WOODS  AND  WATERS 


poems 


BY 

RUFUS  J.  CHILDRESS 


HIS  FIRST  BOOK 


LOUISVILLE 

CHAS.  T.  DEARING 

I90O 


COPYRIGHTED  IQOO, 
BY  RUFUS  J.  CHILDRESS. 


TO 

JUDGE  JOHN  WHEELER  McGEE, 

THIS  VOLUME   IS  AFFECTIONATELY   INSCRIBED 

BY  THE  AUTHOR, 
RUFUS  J.  CHILDRE3S. 


2134SS3 


0  Friend  !  who  ne'er  hast  get  foot  on  my  hearth. 
But  darest  heed  my  heart's  sincere  behest, 
And  dost  become  my  Muse's  helpful  guest. 

The  Man  of  Boss  and  In  Memoriam's  birth 

Was  due  to  friendship.     Though  all  hearts  seem  dearth 
To-day  of  that  whereof  those  bards  were  blest, 
Yet,  as  these  poems  to  all  who  read  attest 

True  friendship  has  not  wholly  gone  from  earth. 

0  had  our  Cosby  such  good  fortune  known, 

The  songs  he  sang,  to  gladden  eyes  that  weep. 

Would  still  chime  on  and  many  a  spirit  move  ; 
But  thou  art  first,  as  through  this  volume  shown, 
To  kindly  aid,  ere  shadows  o'er  him  creep, 
A  poet  here  with  songful  soul  of  love. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Dream  and  Dread 7 

At  School 18 

A  Fruitless  Mission 20 

Mimes 24 

To  An  Oak 26 

A  Strange  Hunt 28 

In  the  Gloom 58 

My  Lady's  Hand 60 

My  Heart 62 

Hers 65 

At  Hand 67 

Trees  and  Birds 70 

Sister  Dolorosa 96 

My  Lady's  Sleeves 98 

Home  of  My  Heart 101 

My  First  Teacher 102 

Katy-did  Rondels 108 

In  the  Air      no 

Strayed Ill 

In  the  Old  Roadway 116 

A  June  Carol 119 

Jessie  or  Jessica,  Which? 121 

Estranged      124 

Ode  to  a  Robin 127 

May  Days 131 

Disillusion 133 

Zoar 135 

The  Hero 140 

Juliette 141 

Bells  of  St.  Patrick's  Church 143 


Contents. 

PAGE 

Ballade  of  the  Loveliest  Girl 145 

To  a  Perfect  Poem 147 

To  a  Dead  Singer 149 

By  the  River 151 

A  Song  of  the  Forest 153 

Enchantment 156 

Love 159 

Inspiration 161 

Love  Sub-rosa 165 

Over  the  Walls  of  Traffic 167 

Daphne 169 

Mary 172 

Baby's 174 

In  Her  Girlhood 176 

The  City  of  Song 179 

My  Lady's  Sister 182 

A  Sail — Triolets 184 

The  Reed  Whistle 186 

Beauty  Ideal 188 

Dewdrops 192 

"The  Evening  Land" 193 

To  Southern  Soldiers 195 

Florence 197 

Dangers 199 

The  Willow 201 

Nora 203 

My  Beloved 204 

A  Musical  Duel 206 

The  Last  Rose 207 


M 


DREAM  AND  DREAD. 

Y  soul,  by  psychic  forces  tossed, 
I  seemed  among  huge  mountains  lost. 


A  fleet  of  clouds  by  night,  by  day, 
About  their  crests  at  anchor  lay ; 
Like  ships  against  a  murky  sky, 
They  trembled  in  the  offing  high. 
Each  sheeted  pennon  beat  and  beat 
Till  shattered,  frayed  by  motion  fleet; 
Was  piece  by  piece  at  once  displaced, 
Then  dashed  about  in  wanton  haste, 
Like  some  loose  sail  or  frantic  bark, 
Cast  into  valleys  dense  and  dark ! 
Now  over  clifls  that  rise  aloof, 
Now  under  boughs  that  weave  a  roof, 
In  aisles  that  daylight  sparse  adorns, 
Where  scarce  a  friendly  sign  forewarns 
Of  crevice  carved  to  mountain's  core, 
Where  subterranean  waters  roar, 
Whence  troops  of  echoes  upward  swell; 
Or  jutting  crag  of  aspect  fell, 
Where  nothing  shields  or  intervenes 
From  perilous  verge  that  outward  leans 
Whence  one  could  fall  o'er  steep  defiles, 
Through  fields  of  air  for  miles  and  miles ; 


Woods  and  Waters. 

Or  mountain  pool  that  stilly  heaves 

In  slumber  'neath  o'erlying  leaves, 

Whose  surface  hidden,  treacherous  snare, 

Engulfs  the  wanderer  unaware ; 

Or  wall  of  stone  that  safe  appears, 

In  equipoise  has  stood  for  years, 

Yet,  tottering  to  its  central  rock, 

Lets  go  at  length  with  deadly  shock, 

And  comes — the  earth  as  hurled  from  under- 

In  avalanches  bellowing  thunder ! 

My  mountain  path  by  these  beset 
With  all  the  horrors  they  beget, 
Was  day  by  day  imperiled  sore, 
By  night  imperiled  more  and  more; 
For  beasts  of  prey  by  hunger  urged, 
From  mountain  fastnesses  emerged ; 
Soft- footed  there,  on  forage  bent, 
Wolves  wondrous  keen  of  sight  and  scent, 
In  body  gaunt,  with  muffled  growl, 
Long,  long  unfed,  were  wont  to  prowl ! 
And  panthers  also  loitered  there, 
Whose  eyes  shot  forth  a  yellow  glare, 
Whose  piercing  scream  of  eldritch  birth, 
With  fear  impregnates  air  and  earth ; 
It  curls  about  the  crag  that  leans, 
And  echoes  down  the  dark  ravines ; 
Creeps  up  among  the  mountain  cells, 
And  still  reverberates  and  swells ; 


Dream  and  Dread. 

Seeks  out,  as  cast  from  brazen  lungs, 
And  gives  each  fissure  tiny  tongues ! 


Thus  horrified,  oppressed  with  care, 
With  scarce  a  hope  I  struggled  there; 
Alone,  more  like  a  frantic  ghost, 
Through  underbrush  that  thickened  most 
Where  ivy  wove  o'er  murk  and  mire 
A  mesh  among  wild  thorn  and  brier ; 
Still  shrinking  shocked,  with  shying  tread, 
As  though  I  met  my  own  self  dead; 
With  heart  forlorn,  o'er  footways  bare, 
As  urged  by  some  untold  despair ; 
Down  precipice,  up  pathway  higher, 
For  days  and  nights  through  dangers  dire, 
Along  some  range  that  southward  led, 
I  wandered  full  of  dream  and  dread ! 


At  length  I  stand  with  flurried  breath, 
By  heights  that  seem  to  mock  at  death ; 
Whose  rugged  walls  loom  up  sublime, 
The  abode  of  gods  defying  Time ! 
Beneath  a  sky  of  strangest  gray, 
The  hill-tops  southward  roll  away ; 
But  from  the  west  with  angry  glow 
Come  clouds  most  lurid  flying  low, 
Emitting  oft  corruscant  gleams 
O'er  forests  wrapped  in  feverish  dreams ; 


Woods  and  Waters. 

Beyond,  between  whose  quivering  trees, 
I  catch  a  glimpse  of  troubled  seas ! 


Now  half  in  silent,  sentient  mood, 

His  strength  reserved,  with  speed  imbued, 

Like  some  young  courier,  dilettante, 

Who  dares  among  the  trees  to  canter, 

The  Wind's  first  motion  as  in  play, 

On  outer  edge  begins  the  fray ; 

But  conscious-like,  surveys  the  scene, 

Assumes  at  length  a  fiercer  mien, 

The  Storm's  precursor,  boding  harm, 

Urged  on  to  spread  the  wild  alarm, 

Who  dallying  not  as  somewhat  loth, 

Into  the  forest  gallops  forth ! 

Instinct  with  fear  from  which  I  start, 
The  lull  that  follows  haunts  my  heart 
With  feelings  of  infinitude 
Wherein  a  menace  seems  to  brood. 
A  throbbing  sound  that  nears  and  nears, 
A  rumble  as  of  crashing  spheres, 
With  dire  alarm  from  outer  space, 
Comes  writhing  in  the  air's  embrace ; 
And  thus  creating  wind  and  fire, 
And  clouds  that  seem  a  seething  pyre, 
The  Storm  in  wild  delirious  mood, 
Is  hurled  against  the  screaming  wood 


10 


Dream  and  Dread. 

Red  lightnings  flare  while  keen  and  loud 
Leap  sudden  peals  from  raging  cloud, 
Like  bombs  when  Grant  was  in  the  South, 
Sent  whizzing  from  the  cannon's  mouth. 
From  jabbing  drops  in  downward  race 
That  gather  force  and  stab  the  face, 
To  floods  that  seem  an  ocean's  birth, 
The  rain  in  torrents  drenches  earth ! 


The  fife  and  drum,  the  trumpet's  blare, 

The  martial  sounds  that,  in  the  air, 

Sustaining  hearts  when  death  is  nigh, 

Make  soldiers  joyful  there  to  die ; 

The  tramp  of  feet,  the  dreadful  battle, 

The  clash  of  swords,  the  muskets'  rattle ; 

The  artillery's  boom  with  livid  flashing, 

The  shrieking  shell  through  treetops  crashing; 

Or  thunder  nearing  still  that  flows 

Continuous  forth  from  buffaloes 

Stampeded  on  the  jarring  plain  ; 

Indeed,  the  roaring  of  the  main 

That  lashes  mountains  far  around, 

Were  silenced  by  that  awful  sound  ! 

It  were  with  all  its  furious  din, 

Its  gathered  force  from  twist  within, 

As  mastodons  aroused  once  more, 

In  combat  through  dense  woodlands  tore ! 


ii 


Woods  and  Waters. 


If  all  that  time  of  old  gave  birth, 
And  each  that  ever  breathed  on  earth, 
With  all  their  curbless  force  restored, 
Along  the  plains  where  woodlands  roared, 
Brought  face  to  face  on  sanguine  field 
With  pachyderms  that  scorned  to  yield, 
The  thump  of  hoof  that  jars  the  ground, 
The  fleshly  thud,  that  deadly  sound ; 
The  sudden  rush,  the  stopping  short, 
Deep  breathing  and  the  groan  and  snort ; 
The  clash  of  tusks  and  bellowings  wild 
When  columns  into  heaps  were  piled ; 
The  crash  of  boughs  among  the  trees, 
Though  like  the  boom  of  angry  seas, 
Were  hushed  with  all  their  deafening  roar, 
By  sounds  the  storm  made  passing  o'er ! 

Ah,  should  ten  thousand  horsemen  speed, 
And  following  close  some  racer's  lead, 
Sweep  back  and  forth,  resistless  tide, 
Across  some  mountain's  rugged  side; 
In  vales  below,  on  peaks  aloof, 
Up  steeps  beyond  with  iron  hoof, 
If  I  should  hear  them  beat  and  beat, 
As  stout  of  girth,  with  ruthless  feet, 
Until  beneath  their  tread  I  feel 
The  solid  mountain  quake  and  reel ; 
If  I  should  see  them  man  by  man 
Come  yelling  forth,  a  frenzied  clan, 


12 


Dream  and  Dread. 

With  eyes  dilate  like  bulbs  of  fire, 
With  voices  tense  that  scorned  to  tire, 
Each  armor-clad,  by  oaths  defiled, 
Still  riding  furious  shrieking  wild, 
With  pointed  spear  or  flashing  lance, 
Jab  flints  till  sparkles  gleam  and  glance ; 
Or,  lifting  high  with  forceful  stroke, 
In  shivers  rend  the  steadfast  oak  ; 
From  far  and  near,  with  hellish  glee, 
If  they  should  set  their  eyes  on  me, 
With  sharp  reproof,  with  blighting  blame, 
Each  call  aloud  my  lonely  name, 
Till  all  earth  seem  a  burning  pyre 
And  all  of  heaven  reflect  the  fire, 
And  tumbling  heavier  into  spray, 
The  Ocean  break  and  blow  away  ; 
And  all  with  clamors  that  would  scare 
The  fearless  lion  from  his  lair, 
Whose  thunders  with  afright  extreme 
Would  silence  even  the  eagle's  scream ; 
Were  small  in  every  phase  and  form, 
To  sounds  made  by  the  fiery  storm 
When  hurled  against  the  helpless  wood 
In  fear  wherein  I  lonely  stood 
Or  wandered  slowly  to  and  fro, 
Sojourning  face  to  face  with  woe. 

Thus  I,  amid  the  clash  of  gales, 

A  moment  dwelt — but  language  fails  ; 


Woods  and  Waters. 

Yet,  shown  to  me  by  flaming  brand, 

For  leagues  along  the  rugged  land, 

Was  sight  of  elemental  rage, 

No  human  prowess  could  assuage  ; 

Force  mystic  that,  intense  and  taut, 

At  war  on  matter  carnage  wrought 

Sublime  as  earthquake's  awful  shock 

That  shivers  mountains  made  of  rock, 

From  source  revealed  not,  depth  profound, 

Which,  like  the  firmament,  knows  no  bound ! 


Still  somewhat  dazed  I  made  my  way 
Through  heaps  of  wreckage  there  that  lay, 
Of  underbrush  to  frazzles  torn, 
Of  trees  of  leaf  and  foliage  shorn, 
Of  bough  and  vine  by  sudden  blast 
Into  a  matted  tangle  cast, 
Or  giant  oaks  among  the  wood 
Uprooted  that  for  ages  stood ; 
Thus  I,  with  half  my  courage  gone, 
Through  ruin  wandered  on  and  on ; 
But  while  fatigued  and  shorn  of  hopes 
I  came  at  length  to  southern  slopes 
That  seemed  unharmed  of  stormy  gales, 
And  found  them  marked  with  iron  rails, 
Which  from  the  eastward  deigned  to  stray 
And  far  to  westward  swept  away. 


Dream  and  Dread. 

There  tunnels  pierce  the  mountain's  side, 
Deep  cuts  the  frowning  bluff  divide ; 
The  rails  are  laid  the  hills  between, 
And  trestles  span  each  dark  ravine, 
Like  some  aerial  palisade 
That  looms  above  the  forest  shade. 
And  while  I  stand  in  gladsome  thought 
To  view  what  human  hands  had  wrought, 
Thereby,  like  some  enchanted  thing, 
Each  rail  began  to  lowly  sing, 
When  puff-a-puff,  with  rapid  bound, 
There  came  a  train  that  jarred  the  ground. 

With  beckoning  sign,  with  frantic  cry, 
I  grasp  and  wave  my  hat  on  high ! 
The  brakes  are  set  with  clash  of  steel, 
And  harshly  grates  each  slackening  wheel ; 
Amid  the  din  the  smoke  escapes 
And  forms  aloof  fantastic  shapes ; 
Still  slowing  up,  poised  on  its  track, 
A  form  so  massive,  pulsive,  black, 
The  train,  within  the  stilly  wood, 
A  breathing  thing,  a  moment  stood ; 
And  while  my  eager  soul  adored, 
I  scarce  had  time  to  leap  aboard, 
When,  as  by  unseen  giant  led, 
With  sudden  bound  it  forward  sped, 
O'er  valley  glides  with  swiftness  rash, 
Darts  into  tunnels  with  a  flash ; 


Woods  and  Waters. 

Now,  like  the  flight  of  albatross, 

Long  level  stretches  sweeps  across ; 

With  steadfast  flange  that  cannot  fail, 

Each  strong  wheel  hugs  the  clanging  rail ; 

But  strange  enough  I  see  no  one, 

Upon  this  train  I  am  alone ! 

I  spy  no  face  from  where  I  stand, 

And  on  the  throttle  see  no  hand ! 

Along  each  aisle  I  stalk  and  stare, 

With  every  seat  about  me  bare ! 

I  hear  each  wheel  that  keenly  wails 

Careering  o'er  the  jointed  rails, 

And  on  the  curves  again,  again, 

I  feel  the  swaying  of  the  train ! 

From  coach  to  coach,  from  place  to  place, 

I  stride,  but  see  no  human  face ! 

I  seize  the  brake  and  swing  around, 

But  only  hear  the  monstrous  sound 

The  train  makes  on  its  metal  track 

From  rocky  hilltops  sounding  back, 

Like  thunder  solemn  mystery  shrouds 

That  lumbers  through  the  land  of  clouds. 

Now  with  myself  in  furious  mood 

I  struggle,  struggle  unsubdued, 

All  frantic,  such  is  my  despair, 

To  leap  into  the  darksome  air ! 

But  from  the  train  I  could  not  go, 
Still  face  to  face  with  utter  woe ; 

16 


Dream  and  Dread. 

Yet  saw,  when  most  oppressed  with  dread, 
The  gleam  of  city  lights  ahead ! 
They  were  to  me  a  fairy  scene, 
As  speeding  forward  down  between 
Rays  parallel  like  golden  woof, 
Above  the  housetops,  over  roof, 
Along  a  trestle's  graceful  span 
The  train  with  lessening  tremor  ran. 

I  now  perceived,  all  danger  past, 
The  train  was  slackening  up  at  last ; 
The  brakes  applied,  strange  joy  I  felt, 
For  gratitude  I  humbly  knelt; 

My  soul  aroused,  then  said  to  me : 

II  Man,  from  thyself  thou  canst  not  flee ! " 


AT  SCHOOL. 

AS  in  a  glory  of  grace, 
Visions  of  radiance  fleet, 
I  saw  the  wild  bloom  of  her  face, 
Her  dark  hair  unloosed  from  its  place, 
Falling  in  waves  to  her  feet ! 


Sheen  from  the  calyx  that  slips 

Where  the  red  blossoms  unclose  ! 
Such  a  blush  held  her  face  in  eclipse, 
Like  hues  of  the  rainbow  that  dips 
Into  a  fountain  of  rose ! 


Like  to  a  color  more  rare 

Put  on  a  flower  as  it  stirs, 
I  had  taken  my  love  unaware, 
While  she  with  most  delicate  care 
Painted  the  young  face  of  her's ! 


Like  to  a  pomegranate  stained, 

Dawn  that  some  cloudiness  streaks, 
Or  glad  heart  by  keen  suffering  pained, 
I  knew  that  the  drug  but  profaned 
The  exquisite  bloom  of  her  cheeks. 

18 


At  School. 

It  was  a  time  when  romance 

Teaches  the  heart  to  adore ; 
For  me  she  would  brighten  her  glance, 
For  me  her  rare  charms  would  enhance, 
Longing  and  looking  before  ! 


Earth  like  a  fairyland  seemed, 

Golden  my  pathway  forsooth ; 
I  saw  it,  or  my  young  heart  dreamed, 
How  brightly  before  me  it  gleamed, 
Lined  with  the  glory  of  youth ! 


Now,  as  one  weaned  from  his  books, 

Flushed  with  a  pleasant  surprise, 
I  have  seemed,  since  bewitched  by  her  looks, 
To  roam  among  murmurous  brooks, 
Lost  in  a  green  Paradise  ! 


A  FRUITLESS  MISSION. 

I  WAS  bred  and  born  in  the  timber, 
Was  reared  where  the  tall  trees  stood; 
I  played  and  romped,  I  remember, 

In  the  heart  of  the  shadowy  wood. 
I  dreamed  that  the  world  was  broader, 

And  the  vision  my  soul  had  won ; 
I  stood  on  the  woodland  border 
And  longed  to  walk  in  the  sun ! 

Unpossessed  of  a  knowledge  valid 

What  life  enlightened  receives; 
Was  it  strange  that  my  face  was  pallid 

When  abroad  I  looked  from  the  leaves? 
As  I  with  a  step  uncertain, 

A  venturer  onward  went, 
I  saw  like  a  glowing  curtain 

The  sky  in  the  distance  bent. 

I  saw  the  bright  clouds  flying 

The  sunny  heavens  within, 
The  broad  green  fields  about  me  lying 

Possessed  of  contented  men. 
I  passed  with  their  rural  ditty 

These  men  and  their  happy  homes, 
And  a-far  saw  a  brilliant  city 

With  glittering  spires  and  domes. 

20 


A  Fruitless  Mission. 

Oh !  as  in  a  clime  elysian, 

Before  my  wondering  eyes 
It  gleamed  like  a  beautiful  vision, 

Or  sight  of  a  Paradise ! 
Yet  as  I  approached  high-hearted, 

A  youth  with  his  soul  aflame, 
Full  half  of  its  glory  departed 

When  into  its  streets  I  came. 


With  furnace  and  forge  and  cinder, 

It  seemed  no  more  as  sublime, 
For  though  there  were  signs  of  splendor, 

There  were  scenes  of  folly  and  crime. 
On  walls  that  were  steep  and  massive, 

On  acres  of  toil  and  care, 
I  gazed  with  feelings  impassive 

And  took  my  residence  there. 


Beside  the  commercial  sources 

I  made  my  city-abode, 
In  the  midst  of  mechanical  forces 

Where  merciless  Traffic  strode. 
Stuck  fast  in  the  narrow  passes 

I  felt  the  factory's  blight, 
Yet  with  the  penniless  masses 

I  sternly  strove  for  the  Right. 


Woods  and  Waters. 


But  Wealth  in  combined  endeavor, 

Supreme,  wore  the  sceptered  crown  j 
And  Wrong  was  triumphant  ever, 

The  just  and  good  trampled  down. 
And  the  trusts  imburdened  and  throttled, 

And  broke  the  spirits  of  men, 
With  greed  in  their  beings  wattled, 

And  remorseless  souls  within. 


I  heard  the  passionate  murmur 

Of  toilers  whose  hopes  were  gone, 
A  voice  growing  fiercer,  firmer, 

As  the  stifled  years  passed  on. 
But  deeper  than  woes  that  stung  them, 

Like  vernal  grain  in  its  sheath, 
I  saw — unperceived  among  them — 

New  forces  wax  underneath. 


I  could  not  help  but  wonder 

Their  feet  upon  Freedom's  sod, 
When  the  people  would  rise  in  thunder 

And  sweep  them  away  like  God ! 
No  power  that  enslaves  may  hold  them, 

Nor  aught  from  their  purpose  turn ; 
Their  hearts,  though  meshes  enfold  them, 

For  vengeance  steadily  burn. 


A  Fruitless  Mission. 

And  I  thought  of  the  hills  and  hollows, 

And  the  streams  that  chime  in  tune, 
And  the  moonlight  night  that  follows 

The  happiest  day  of  June ; 
So  I  sat  my  wan  face  thither, 

For  the  rural  scene  and  sight, 
Where  tall  green  trees  never  wither, 

And  thrushes  sing  with  delight. 


And  Wrong  no  more  do  I  ponder — 

Wrong  making  the  hot  tears  stream — 
But  again  through  the  woodlands  wander 

Like  one  in  a  pleasant  dream, 
Aye  led  by  the  golden  fancy 

That  eases  the  aching  sense, 
The  beautiful  Necromancy 

Abounding  in  woodlands  dense. 


MIMES. 

HELPLESS  and  forlornly  suited, 
I  stand  in  the  dismal  glare 
Between  two  mysteries  mooted, 

Two  clouds  that  touch  in  the  air ; 
That  touch  in  the  air  and  mingle 

Into  an  invisible  one, 
But  down  at  the  earth  are  single 
And  strangely  gleam  in  the  sun. 

One  cloud  is  a  luminous  yellow, 

And  all  earth  from  it  receives 
A  glow  as  fleeting  and  mellow 

As  hues  that  the  twilight  weaves ; 
And  one,  like  the  vortical  column 

That  whirls  from  the  factory-stack, 
With  an  aspect  all  ashen  and  solemn, 

Sweeps  after  in  lethean  track  ! 

Thus  down  the  ages  forever 

Are  these  striving  mysteries  seen, 
The  pursued  overtaken  never, 

Though  narrow  the  space  between. 
Yet  within  these  gruesome  dominions, 

In  a  panic  that  cannot  quit, 
Mime-myriads  on  frantical  pinions 

In  utter  confusion  flit ! 


Mimes. 

Above  them  a  waxen  crescent 

Like  a  tremulous  lily  drowns 
In  a  gulf  that  glows  incandescent, 

Yet  o'er  a  dark  precipice  frowns; 
A  crescent  but  timidly  golden 

As  pale  from  fright  at  its  birth, 
Broke  off  in  the  aeons  olden 

When  Mars  collided  with  earth ! 


Distraught  with  insatiate  raging, 

Insane  with  eternal  fears, 
Fierce  war  internecine  waging 

Through  all  their  embittered  years, 
They  sweep  through  the  humid  hollows, 

Like  scarlet  leaves  on  the  blast, 
Fleeing  wild  from  the  cloud  that  follows, 

En-wound  in  its  folds  at  last ! 


Like  the  atoms  of  dust  that  scatter 

Winds  lift  from  the  city-street, 
Their  forms  while  the  elements  batter 

Against  one  another  beat ; 
And  man  who  strives  and  surpasses, 

And  man  who  fails  in  his  race, 
Each  is  of  the  glimmering  masses 

Thus  helplessly  blown  through  space 


TO  AN  OAK. 

DEAR  TREE !  thy  storm-defying  branches, 
Since  childhood's  early  dawn, 
I've  heard  them  roar  like  avalanches 

Above  the  roof  and  lawn, 
And  now  I  greet  thee  as  a  lover 
Unto  thy  strong  arms  drawn ! 

To  thee  I  breathe  a  hope  and  seal  it 

With  secret  kiss  and  vow 
And  filial  reverence,  for  I  feel  it 

Stir  in  my  veins  somehow, 
My  youth  thou  hast  so  kindly  sheltered 

With  broadly  drooping  bough ! 

Long,  long  before  the  doorway  standing, 

Thy  towering  form  I  see; 
Thou  dost  possess  an  air  commanding, 

So  forest-born  and  free ; 
Time  was  when  thou  wast  lord  of  woodlands 

That  stretched  from  sea  to  sea ! 

Still  thou  art  stern  and  self-reliant, 

Like  all  thy  sturdy  class ; 
I  see  thee  toss  thy  boughs  defiant 

When  northern  gales  harrass; 
And  when  the  swift  tornadoes  strike  thee, 

Dost  lean  and  let  them  pass ! 

26 


To  An  Oak. 

The  birds,  I  see  them  from  my  casements, 
Perch  on  thy  top-most  prongs, 

Or  hide  among  thy  green  enlacements 
And  sing  their  airy  songs; 

And  then  for  something,  O,  what  is  it  ? 
The  soul  within  me  longs  ! 

'Tis  not  regret  nor  cold  arraignment 

Of  what  my  life  has  been, 
But  dreaming  of  some  rare  attainment, 

Or  wish  among  good  men 
To  be  a  man  and  up  and  doing, 

A  worthy  name  to  win  ! 

From  storms  that  tear  the  woods  asunder 
Thy  trunk  no  shield  doth  screen, 

Nor  from  the  lurid  bolt  nor  thunder, 
Yet  with  majestic  mien, 

O  lordly  oak  !  dost  thou  survive  them 
Triumphant  and  serene ! 

So  I,  with  never  sign  of  failing, 

Beneath  whatever  dome, 
Would  fain  beat  back  the  winds  assailing, 

Where  e'er  on  earth  I  roam, 
When  I  shall  cast  aloof  and  wander 

Forth  from  my  father's  home ! 


27 


A  STRANGE  HUNT. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

THE  Babe  is  born,  a  breathing  mite; 
The  doting  parent  teaches, 
And,  flower-like,  towards  the  warmth  and  light, 

The  little  Hero  reaches. 
The  heart  of  hearts,  the  household  gem ; 

Each,  having  pious  missions, 
At  once  would  fain  reveal  to  him 
Life's  hidden  definitions. 

The  mother  rears  him  in  her  pride, 

And  sweet  her  long  endeavor; 
Dear  is  the  task  to  lead  and  guide, 

And  help  him  onward  ever. 
But  when  the  young  Night  parts  his  eyes 

First  from  the  Day  asunder, 
Stars  on  his  childhood  vision  rise 

That  fill  his  soul  with  wonder ! 

His  face  and  cheek  each  fresher  truth 

With  new  excitement  flushes ; 
The  schools  receive  the  eager  youth 

And  knowledge  on  him  rushes. 
Henceforward,  passing  on  these  grounds, 

Each  one  with  wisdom  gifted, 
Elucidates — explains — expounds — 

And  seeks  to  leave  uplifted. 

28 


A  Strange  Hunt. 

But  many  a  thing  confounds  his  sense 

Unsolved  of  lores  or  lectures, 
And  much  of  mystery  still  augments 

The  sum  of  earth's  conjectures. 
It  darkles  o'er  Life's  upward  slope, 

It  baffles  human  reason ; 
Mars  the  fair  promise  and  the  hope 

Of  youth's  ideal  season. 


MENTAL   EXULTATION. 

We  seek  the  woods  with  laughter  loud, 

Each  heart  for  sport  a-hunger ; 
Four  youths  are  we,  a  jolly  crowd, 

And  I  the  watchful  younger. 
Ah !  pity  aught  should  make  forlorn 

Our  bright  imaginations ! 
We  seek  the  woods  with  hound  and  horn 

And  rapt  anticipations ! 

We  love  the  chase  in  every  phase; 

It  breaks  the  forest's  quiet, 
It  gives  us  health  and  length  of  days 

Like  to  some  magic  diet. 
We  love  the  bay  of  thundering  hounds, 

Engulfed  in  briery  hollows, 
Where  each  who  hears  the  stirring  sounds, 

With  hasty  effort  follows ! 


29 


Woods  and  Waters. 

They  strike  a  trail  that's  true,  I  wot ! 

They  rush  on  like  a  river ! 
Their  deep-toned  mouthings  fast  and  hot, 

Set  all  the  woods  a-quiver; 
While  Echo  shrieks  "Rejoice!  Rejoice!" 

Like  some  delirious  dancer, 
Until  the  trees,  instinct  with  voice, 

Clap  hands  and  gladly  answer. 


O'er  spur  and  gneissoid  inlet  o'er, 

Down  valleys  dark  and  starry, 
They  sweep  on,  pouring  forth  a  roar 

That  dooms  the  fleeing  quarry  ! 
Each  rugged  cliff  o'er  treetops  hung, 

Each  mound  above  the  level, 
Or  cave  thereunder,  finds  a  tongue 

And  swells  the  gleeful  revel ! 

They  fill  our  hearts,  these  happy  sounds, 

With  joy  in  boundless  measure ; 
With  warm  regard  for  faithful  hounds, 

And  deep,  impulsive  pleasure. 
And  so  through  swamp  or  matted  reeds, 

As  hunters  born  inherit, 
We  are,  where  e'er  the  hot  trail  leads, 

One  with  our  hounds  in  spirit. 


A  Strange  Hunt. 


COMING    TOGETHER. 

By  blast  of  horn  each  understands, 

That  draws  forth  quick  replying, 
We  gather  in  the  meadow-lands 

Beside  the  forest  lying. 
Toward  secret  haunts  where  game  abounds 

We  turn  our  ardent  faces — 
Ho !  Nero,  Draco,  sapient  hounds ! 

How  each  about  us  races ! 


There  was  no  moon  this  special  night, 

A  clouded  sky  curved  o'er  us; 
But  on  a  sudden  there  was  light, 

Our  shadows  stretched  before  us ! 
It  was  a  torrid,  crimson  hue, 

To  deep  vermilion  gleaming  ; 
Unto  great  lengths  our  shadows  grew, 

Like  slender  goblins  seeming  ! 


Yelping,  our  hounds  ran  to  us  quelled 

As  by  some  sight  appalling; 
We  looked  behind  us  and  beheld 

A  fiery  column  falling  ! 
As  though  with  pent-up  lightnings  fraught 

A  giant  cone  were  riven, 
The  flame  along  its  full  length  caught, 

Illuming  earth  and  heaven ! 


Woods  and  Wafers. 

In  mid-air  a  brief  instant  hung 

With  death  a-tremble  in  it ; 
Mute  silence  fell  on  every  tongue, 

And  lay  one  fearful  minute ! 
For  like  some  lurid  oblong  bomb 

Cast  downward,  slightly  leaning, 
It  burst  with  sound  that  smote  us  dumb, 

Unreckoned  in  its  meaning  ! 

Still  cowed,  our  hounds  stood  trembling  near ; 

What  could  have  more  undone  us  ? 
A  strange  unearthly  spell  of  fear 

The  meteor  cast  upon  us  ! 
At  length  we  cheered  and  whooped  aloud 

To  prove  ourselves  undaunted ; 
Somehow,  like  voices  from  a  shroud, 

Our  tones  seemed  truly  haunted. 


A  CHANGE  OF   GROUNDS. 

Two  miles  from  home  !    Two  miles  from  home 

Two  miles  from  friendly  faces  ! 
And  though  it  seem  the  haunt  of  gnome, 

'Tis  best  of  favored  places. 
This  wild,  afar  from  farm  and  fence, 

Has  been  for  ages  noted 
To  yield  a  golden  recompense 

Unto  the  chase-devoted. 


A  Strange 


How  fast  and  far  the  rumor  flies  ! 

What  draws  the  quarry  lover  ? 
It  is  the  Hunter's  Paradise, 

Renowned  the  country  over  ! 
Here  tree  and  bush  from  Nature's  hands 

Were  cast  in  dense  disorder, 
And  Massac  laves  the  pebbly  sands 

Along  its  leafy  border. 


Come,  Nero,  Draco,  nose  to  ground ! 

No  trammel  here  should  hamper; 
Arouse  the  echoes  far  around 

And  make  the  quarry  scamper ! 
Ah !  never  hound  o'er  miles  of  space 

Has  swelled  the  quiring  chorus, 
Were  more  impetuous  in  the  chase 

Than  these  that  leap  before  us ! 


Here  trees  abound  that  stand  aloof 

Like  sentinel  and  picket, 
O'er  interlacing  boughs  that  roof 

The  vine-encumbered  thicket; 
The  lowlands  bearing  sign  of  storms 

And  elemental  forces, 
While  ridges  rear  their  scalloped  forms 

Along  the  water-courses. 


33 


Woods  and  Waters. 

Here  flash  the  brook  and  waterfall 

The  stagnant  lake  relies  on, 
And  darkly  gleams  the  forest-wall 

Against  the  far  horizon. 
What  of  the  chase  ?    .    .    .  No  answer  comes 

From  glen  or  region  hilly ; 
Only  the  restless  night-wind  hums 

In  tree-tops  low  and  stilly ! 


What  scream  is  this  we  hear  so  nigh  ? 

What  vocal  lance  that  pierces  ? 
Is  it  a  bird's  or  woman's  cry, 

Which  but  itself  rehearses  ? 
It  leaps  distraught  to  heights  intense, 

A  prolonged  shriek  Satanic  ! 
It  splits  the  ear !     It  stuns  the  sense  ! 

And  gives  the  heart  a  panic ! 


From  hills  near  by  each  echo  flees, 

As  though  it  scorned  resistance, 
But  trembles  through  the  lowland  trees 

And  dies  down  in  the  distance. 
Each  airy  voice  is  hushed  in  fear, 

Yet  every  nook  and  cranny 
In  all  the  woodlands  far  and  near, 

Seems  filled  with  sound  uncanny 


34 


A  Strange  Hunt. 

It  is  the  Night-hawk's  dire  alarm, 

A  wild  tormented  raver ! 
Whose  sudden  fury  bodes  no  harm, 

But  shocks  with  eldritch  quaver. 
It  cuts  the  air  this  horrid  night, 

Like  leafless  hazel  switches, 
And  sounds  as  strange  as  hazels  might, 

If  twirled  by  shriveled  witches ! 

When  e'er  we  hear  it  dread  comes  o'er  us 

Which,  like  the  croak  of  raven 
Or  sheeted  ghosts  that  pass  before  us, 

But  tends  to  make  us  craven  ; 
Within  ourselves  dilutes  the  starch 

Or  stamina  that  braces, 
Till  ash  as  heaven's  o'erclouded  arch 

The  pallor  of  our  faces  ! 


ANOTHER  CHANGE  OF  GROUNDS. 

The  Collie  field !     The  Collie  field ! 

That  once  produced  the  staple, 
Now  overgrown,  its  mystery  sealed, 

With  sassafras  and  maple ; 
Where  some  strange  vine  that  climbs  o'erhead, 

Hath  gaudy  blossoms  flaunted  .    .    . 
A  thousand  times  I've  heard  it  said, 

The  Collie  field  was  haunted! 


35 


Woods  and  Waters. 

Twin  slopes  that  fondle  twin  ravines 

For  long  years  unattended, 
O  sport  among  their  grassy  scenes ! 

It  must  be  splendid !  splendid ! 
Here  from  the  hillside  through  the  trees, 

Behold  them  dimly  gleaming; 
A  sea  of  grass  whose  glories  please 

Waves  o'er  them  dreaming,  dreaming. 


Haste,  Nero !     Let  us  overawe 

The  game,  alert  and  knowing ! 
Comrades !     Here  stands  a  young  Papaw 

Upon  the  hill-top  growing ! 
By  large  oaks  shielded  from  the  sun, 

An  oderiferous  shadow ; 
A  happy  omen !    Now  for  fun  ! 

The  Hunter's  Eldorado  ! 


O  look  beyond  !     Like  ripened  hay 

The  underbrush  and  grasses 
Into  the  darkness  roll  away 

In  brown  autumnal  masses  ; 
Among  the  trees  that  through  them  push 

With  good  endowments  gifted 
The  sumach,  like  a  burning  bush, 

Stands  with  red  hands  uplifted. 


A  Strange  Hunt. 

A  thousand  stiff  herbaceous  stalks, 

Forlorn  and  weather-flouted, 
In  broken  columns  crowd  the  walks, 

Like  summer  soldiers  routed. 
Yet  many  a  wild-grown  hollyhock, 

With  dahlias  drooping  under, 
Doth  with  tall  mullens  interlock, 

As  if  intent  on  plunder. 


Each  crooked  worm-laid  fence  one  sees, 

Decayed  and  rotten  nourishes 
A  hedge  of  sage  and  locust  trees 

Which  like  some  barrier  flourishes; 
And  far  a-field,  in  shadowy  court, 

Before  one's  sight  retarded, 
Loom  tree-tops  terraced  like  a  fort 

By  northern  blasts  bombarded. 


The  bluff  o'erhanging  Massac's  bed 

There  is  no  sign  revealing, 
The  tangled  growths  that  overspread. 

Its  dangerous  edge  concealing  ; 
Whilst  leaning  o'er  the  precipice 

Are  trees  that  tantalize  us; 
A  fringe  of  hawthorn  most  remiss 

With  ripened  fruit  defies  us. 


37 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Here  music  unrestrained  is  born 

Which,  like  a  geyser,  rushes 
Forth  every  glowing  summer  morn, 

From  torrent  throated  thrushes, 
Here  flit  the  spangled  butterflies 

Like  variegated  flashes, 
And  honey  bees  whose  laden  thighs 

Seem  bound  with  orange  sashes. 


Each  year  wild  thorn  and  jointed  grass 

Here  grow  in  rank  profusion, 
With  elders,  briers  and  sassafras 

Combined  for  man's  exclusion  ; 
And  fragrant  vines  without  a  name, 

Still  others  overriding — 
A  jungle  where  the  wily  game 

Must  make  his  daily  hiding. 


Come,  Rover !     Keep  a  sharp  outlook 

Among  the  reeds  enlacing ! 
Grass  six  feet  high  conceals  the  brook, 

Here  is  the  place  for  chasing ! 
A  trail !     Ah,  no !     A  make-believe ! 

He  jumps  the  tall  grass  over; 
On  purpose  he  would  not  deceive, 

A  frolic  loves  young  Rover ! 


A  Strange  Hunt. 

The  Collie  field !     The  Collie  field ! 

A  soil  the  sun  shines  dim  on, 
With  half  the  boughs  that  shade  and  shield 

Bent  low  with  lush  persimmon; 
A  fruit,  now  ripened  golden-red, 

By  more  than  mankind  wanted  .    .    . 
A  thousand  times  I've  heard  it  said, 

The  Collie  field  was  haunted ! 


A    HINT   OF    ILL-LUCK. 

A  low  cloud  scuds  across  the  sky, 

The  wind  is  softly  wailing ; 
In  stilly  heavens  I  hear  a  sigh, 

Like  some  lone  spirit  ailing ! 
What  matter  ?     Ever  seem  the  scenes 

Beyond  us  rarer,  rarer; 
Come,  let  us  cross  the  twin  ravines, 

The  prospect  may  be  fairer. 

A  path  along  the  margin  leads 

•    And  this  we  slowly  follow, 

Push  onward  half  submerged  in  weeds 

Past  huge  thorns  in  the  hollow ; 
Now  come  to  walks  that  smoothly  lie, 

With  less  of  roughness  springing; 
And  here  two  posts  that  lean  awry, 

Show  where  the  gate  was  swinging. 


39 


Woods  and  Waters. 

Bare  walls  with  rents  through  which  one  sees 

But  ruin  in  many  places, 
Perched  on  a  bluff,  the  tallest  trees 

Below  some  twenty  paces ; 
Long,  long  untouched  of  human  hands, 

A  shell,  a  wreck,  a  wonder, 
Decaying,  Collie's  Cabin  stands, 

The  Massac  washing  under. 


Each  year  against  the  crumbling  wall 

The  torrent  beats  with  slaughter, 
And  with  each  freshet  portions  fall 

Into  the  raging  water, 
Whereby  the  whole  bluff,  black  as  lead, 

Is  ever  taunted,  taunted  .    .    . 
A  thousand  times  I've  heard  it  said, 

Ttie  Collie  field  was  haunted! 


O  Cabin !     Shorn  of  every  good, 

Dog-like,  Oblivion  hunts  thee  ! 
A  wizard  old  in  wildred  wood, 

A  perilous  fate  confronts  thee ! 
Yet  appletrees  as  large  as  oaks 

In  rows  about  thee  cluster, 
And  shed,  though  grass  thy  doorway  chokes, 

Upon  thee  lasting  luster ! 


40 


A  Strange  Hunt. 

Perhaps,  upon  each  sappy  stem 

Their  master's  woes  were  written ; 
With  ligneous  growths  enfolding  them, 

They  stand  unconscious-smitten. 
As  through  a  palimpsest  to  read, 

It  were  a-kin  to  glory, 
To  scan  those  writings  through  the  screed 

Of  Life's  more  recent  story ! 

But  live  through  ages  yet  to  be  - 

And  blossom  every  summer, 
The  treasured  bower  of  minstrelsy, 

The  haunt  of  each  new  comer; 
And  while  your  boughs  luxuriant  spread,. 

Triumphant  in  endeavor 
Grow  on  .    .    .to  sorrow  as  unwed, 

O  home-like  trees  .        .  forever! 


AS  SEEN  FROM  THE  BLUFF. 

Where  e'er  you  look,  these  autumn  days, 

Here  from  the  treetops'  level, 
The  festive  fancy  laughs  and  plays, 

The  glad  eyes  feast  and  revel; 
Above,  as  touched  by  fairy  hands, 

You  see  enchanted  hollows, 
And  burnished  aisles  down  bottom  lands, 

As  far  as  vision  follows ! 


Woods  and  Waters. 

Thus  splendor  seen  for  many  a  mile, 

O'er  far  blue  hilltops  streaming; 
It  must  to  hearts  fair  views  beguile, 

Be  more  like  gorgeous  dreaming ; 
Far  summits,  decked  with  gleams  profuse 

In  lovely  air  expanded, 
Whereon  in  evening's  twilight  hues 

The  golden  clouds  seem  stranded. 


The  bottom  lands !     The  bottom  lands ! 

In  autumn  glory  lying, 
Are  russet-tinged  with  yellow  bands 

And  scarlet  pennons  flying ! 
While  other  hues  enhance  the  scene, 

Some  red  as  flaming  flannel, 
And  some  as  dark  as  summer  green, 

Down  Massac's  winding  channel. 


The  upper  hollows !     The  upper  hollows ! 

Bespangled  flames  adorning, 
Are  haunts  that  gleam  like  fair  Apollo's 

In  Time  and  Poesy's  morning. 
When  stirred  by  winds  they  hold  in  bond, 

Such  colors  oversprinkle, 
Like  some  magician  waved  a  wand 

And  woods  began  to  twinkle. 


42 


A  Strange  Hunt. 

The  bottom  lands !     The  bottom  lands 

The  treetops  all  in  motion, 
Seem  like  a  sea  of  gleaming  sands 

Or  swiftly  sparkling  ocean. 
Long,  leafy  billows  dying,  dying, 

As  if  a  lounging  rover, 
The  wind  upon  their  surface  lying, 

Rolls  over,  over,  over. 


BEAUTY  PERSONIFIED. 

Here  Beauty  seems  to  reign  in  dreams, 

And  this  where  Heaven  befriends  her, 
And  every  day  that  floats  away 

Some  new  enchantment  lends  her. 
As  bright  as  truth,  she  broke  forsooth, 

From  radiant  realms  that  bound  her ; 
Yet  looks  so  fair,  she  still  must  wear 

Their  gorgeous  glories  round  her  ! 


Her  robe  unlaced  about  the  waist 

Relaxes  heart  and  muscle, 
And  everywhere  in  earth  or  air, 

You  hear  her  garments  rustle. 
She  grasps  the  sheen,  the  glow  serene 

With  autumn  gleams  prevailing, 
And  sweeps  with  smiles  through  forest  aisles 

And  leaves  her  colors  trailing ! 


43 


Woods  and  Waters. 

Her  gift  is  such  her  daintiest  touch 

Emblazons  leaf  and  chalice, 
And  boundless  woods  her  splendor  floods 

Become  an  endless  palace. 
And  when  profuse  her  matchless  hues 

To  woodlands  all  are  given, 
Each  spangled  arch  that  spans  her  march 

But  tells  she  came  from  heaven  ! 


REVERTS  TO  COLLIE  AND  HIS  FIELD. 

But  where  is  Collie  ?  man  of  moods ! 

Of  years  an  aggregation 
He  labored,  building  in  these  woods 

His  lonely  habitation. 
Here  dwelt  and  wrought  where  none  might  scan, 

Far  from  the  rabble's  laughter ; 
Then  disappeared,  mysterious  man ! 

And  ne'er  was  heard  of  after. 

O  Collie  field !     O  Collie  field ! 

I  ask  with  grave  misgiving, 
Will  e'er  thy  secrets  be  revealed 

Unto  a  human  living  ? 
Was  life  to  Collie  ere  he  fled, 

Always  the  treasure  vaunted  ? 
A  thousand  times  I've  heard  it  said, 

"The  Collie  field  was  haunted!" 


44 


A  Strange  Hunt. 

A-tree  the  gray  owl  hoots  and  sits, 

Which  seems  to  bode  disaster, 
And  many  a  black  bat  by  us  flits 

Through  shadows  thickening  faster. 
But  where  in  all  the  Collie  grounds, 

Perhaps  in  vain  endeavor, 
Is  Draco,  Nero,  sapient  hounds, 

Steadfast  and  faithful  ever? 


Perhaps  they  search  yon  hidden  brook, 

Explore  its  pebbly  quarters ; 
Game  must  abound  in  many  a  nook 

Along  its  sheltered  waters ; 
Perhaps  they  climb  the  steeps  beyond, 

Because  of  failure  fiercer; 
Of  distant  ranges  they  are  fond 

When  closer  game  grows  scarcer. 


Ah,  no !     Ah,  no !     They  wait,  they  hide 

In  clumps  of  thorn  and  holly, 
Forlorn  in  aspect,  wistful-eyed 

And  strangely  melancholy ! 
They  lag  behind  oppressed  with  dread, 

In  heart  and  spirit  daunted; 
A  thousand  times  I've  heard  it  said, 

"  The  Collie  field  was  haunted!" 


45 


Woods  and  Waters. 


WITH  THOUGHTS  OF  HOME. 

The  darkness  growing  more  intense, 

Assumes  a  cast  nefarious ; 
It  seems  our  chance  for  recompense 

Has  come  to  be  precarious ; 
The  hour  is  late !     It  now  appears 

To  stay  here  were  a  folly ; 
Let's  strike  for  home !     In  all  these  years 

There  ne'er  was  word  from  Collie. 


He's  gone  for  good !    Once  more  we  meet 

The  tree  unmatched,  unmated ; 
The  young  Papaw,  said  to  retreat 

From  clearings  cultivated, 
Into  the  woodbine  far  from  road, 

Far  from  the  least  endeavor 
Of  labor,  far  from  man's  abode, 

To  live  unseen  forever ! 


He's  gone  for  good !     His  house  and  farm 

He  for  all  time  deserted, 
Or  this  strange  tree  of  changeless  charm, 

Had  ne'er  itself  perverted 
To  thus  take  root  in  trodden  soil, 

Its  slender  stem  to  nourish 
So  nigh  man's  strife  and  farm's  turmoil, 

To  bring  forth  fruit  and  flourish! 

46 


A  Strange  Hunt. 

Adieu,  young  tree  !     We  now  depart 

And  leave  thee  ever  lonely ; 
By  thee,  from  woods  we  homeward  start, 

Made  memorable  only. 
Good  luck  to  us,  locating  thee, 

Who  know  thy  sentient  story  ; 
Thy  first  discoverers  thus  to  be, 

For  us  is  ample  glory ! 

Adieu,  old  field!     Not  shapes  grotesque 

Declared  to  haunt  thee  ever, 
We've  seen  the  grandly  picturesque 

With  Nature's  wild  endeavor! 
Now  with  thy  mystery  we  have  done; 

Here  from  thy  highland  corner 
Together  we  depart  .    .    .  each  one  .    .    . 

Thy  haunted  story  scorner  ! 


WE  LEAVE. 

How  dark  the  night !     We  cannot  see 

The  path  that  lies  before  us, 
And  each  beholds  through  brush  and  tree 

The  low  clouds  hanging  o'er  us. 
We  grope  along  the  narrow  verge 

Of  dismal  precipices, 
Where  hills  into  broad  marshlands  surge 

And  form  superb  abysses. 


47 


Woods  and  Wafers. 

Here  moss  that  creeps  into  the  shade 

Beads  bright  in  open  spaces, 
And  foxfire,  ghost  of  wood  decayed, 

Gleams  faint  in  marshy  places. 
A  fallen  tree-top  looming  dim, 

Each  hand  and  face  now  threshes  ; 
We  feel  our  way  from  limb  to  limb, 

And  scramble  through  its  meshes. 


So  still  the  woods  our  footsteps  wake 

An  echo  far  extended. 
The  frail  impeding  bough  we  break 

Sounds  like  an  oak  were  rended ; 
So  faint  the  restless  night-winds  beat 

Amongst  the  lowland  branches, 
The  bowlders,  loosened  by  our  feet, 

Crash  down  like  avalanches  ! 


We  pass  on,  shrinking  from  ourselves 

With  none  to  help  or  love  us ; 
And  one  by  one  dark  rocky  shelves 

Shed  leaden  hues  above  us. 
Now  come  to  space  each  understands 

We  think,  secure  in  feeling, 
And  grope  along  vast  bottom  lands, 

The  dark  hours  by  us  stealing. 

48 


A  Strange  Hunt. 

In  Indian-file  a  league  we  pace, 

Thus  each  one  trailing  after, 
But  come  to  no  familiar  place, 

Yet  push  on  forcing  laughter. 
Up  woodland  avenues  we  pass 

Till  each  with  meadow  clashes, 
Where  fireflies  swimming  o'er  the  grass 

Shed  forth  their  lucent  flashes. 


The  trees  to  open  spaces  yield — 

Whose  farm  we  wonder,  wonder ; 
It  is— it  is  the  Collie  field ! 

Alas !  we  blunder !  blunder ! 
The  Collie  field !     For  here's  the  tree, 

The  young  Papaw  before  us ; 
And  now  we  feel  in  high  degree, 

A  strangeness  stealing  o'er  us ! 


We've  circled,  be  it  understood, 

Back  to  the  tree  that  rues  it ; 
Because,  within  the  somber  wood, 

The  tracks  of  men  abuse  it ! 
O  Tree,  averse  to  human  strife, 

That  man's  approach  abhorrest, 
It  is  the  ruthless  law  of  life 

When  lost  within  the  forest ! 


49 


Woods  and  Waters. 

Because,  with  hearts  against  it  steeled, 

With  wills  and  words  undaunted, 
We  looked  not  on  the  Collie  field 

As  wild  and  story-haunted  ; 
And  may  be  that  mysterious  power 

Which  makes  it  melancholy, 
That  strange  inheritance  and  dower 

Rebukes  our  scorn  and  folly ! 


Thus,  lurking  in  the  dusky  air, 

Like  sleep  about  the  lotus, 
This  subtle  force  all  unaware 

With  bale  influence  smote  us ; 
And  while  sharp  brambles  pierce  our  skin, 

Each  filled  with  fearful  feeling 
And  stirred  by  frantic  thoughts  within, 

Perceives  his  senses  reeling ! 


As  sometimes  burdened  with  a  fear, 

That  which  we  fear  befalls  us ; 
Or  as  we  sometimes  deem  we  hear 

And  heed  a  voice  that  calls  us ; 
So,  while  the  air  about  us  gleams 

And  many  a  charm  allures  us, 
The  secret  fear  that  haunts  our  dreams 

With  mystic  clasp  secures  us ! 


A  Strange  Hunt. 

Thus,  when  some  magic  voice  ahead 

Is  deemed  to  be  Apollo's, 
Some  one  of  us  delusion-led, 

Deceives  himself  and  follows. 
More  hope,  more  joy,  though  heaven  may  shriek, 

The  wild  enthusiast  borrows, 
And  rushes  onward  waxing  weak 

"To  Sorrow's  crown  of  sorrows  !" 


Such  may  have  Collie's  fate  involved, 

Such  has  perhaps  undone  us ; 
As  Collie's  fate  remains  unsolved, 

It  somehow  preys  upon  us ! 
It  breeds  the  thoughts  that  most  appall 

Anent  his  strange  migration, 
We  may  be  threatened,  worst  of  all, 

With  like  annihilation ! 


I  would  some  angel  hating  woe, 

Through  blinding  mist  might  view  us, 
And  rend  the  dense  clouds  hanging  low 

And  show  a  star  unto  us ! 
Ah !  Draco,  wherefore  yelp  and  whine  ? 

Ah !  Nero,  wherefore  howling  ? 
Is  there  some  ghoul  with  eyes  a-shine 

Amid  these  woodlands  prowling  ? 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Why,  comrades,  should  we  thus  deplore 

Our  mournful  situation  ? 
Cheer  up !  and  let  us  try  once  more 

The  dark  woods'  penetration ! 
For  Draco  eager,  fain  would  lead, 

That  we  might  travel  faster; 
While  Nero  scares  the  wolves  of  greed 

And  wards  off  fell  disaster ! 


LOST    IN   THE   WOODLANDS. 

Three  times  upon  the  frail  Papaw, 

Though  more  than  fain  to  shun  it, 
Victims  of  Life's  mysterious  law, 

Three  times  we  came  upon  it ! 
Three  times  to  our  abject  dismay 

On  the  sharp  elevation ; 
Three  times  through  treetop  felt  our  way 

With  lessening  consolation ! 

Three  times  crept  down  the  stony  shelves, 

Three  times  where  mosses  beaded ; 
Three  times  in  bottoms  found  ourselves 

Through  which  we  had  proceeded ; 
Three  times  up  woodland  avenues, 

That  led  to  open  meadows 
Where  fireflies  spun  their  spiral  hues, 

Like  gold  threads  stitching  shadows. 


A  Strange  Hunt. 

We  saw  a  thing  like  one  who  dreamed,. 

But  soon  with  rue  to  awe  it ; 
Each  time  an  object  stranger  seemed 

Than  when  before  we  saw  it. 
And  sore  perplexed,  in  our  despair, 

With  matted  boughs  for  cover, 
Beneath  an  oak  in  darkness  there, 

We  sat  to  talk  it  over. 


In  all  directions  echoes  woke 

A  shrill  concatenation, 
But  they  from  wide  divergence  broke, 

And  differed  in  location ; 
Thus,  muddled,  listening  in  the  dark, 

And  this  and  that  declaring, 
We  heard  a  neighbor's  watch-dog  bark 

And  ascertained  our  bearing. 


In  kindest  words  we  could  employ 

We  gave  this  dog  our  blessing, 
And  took  a  homeward  course  with  joy 

We  could  not  help  expressing. 
To  us,  the  miles  began  to  yield, 

In  jest  and  laughter  vying; 
The  pathway  touched  our  neighbor's  field 

Beyond  the  Massac  lying. 


53 


Woods  and  Waters. 


A    RETROSPECTION. 

The  joyous  scenes  ere  youth  has  fled, 

Mid  days  more  melancholic 
They  seem  again  about  us  spread 

With  all  their  fun  and  frolic; 
The  old  play-ground  that  once  we  knew, 

The  dear  familiar  places ; 
Once  more  the  school-house  comes  to  view 

With  ball  and  bat  and  bases ! 

The  games  we  played,  the  smiles  bestowed, 

And  looks  from  eyes  seraphic ; 
With  bright  romance  our  faces  glowed, 

With  dreams  our  daily  traffic. 
Once  more  the  horn  and  gladdened  hound, 

The  gun  and  hunting  parties ; 
And  scenes  wherein — with  face  embrowned- 

The  country  school-boy's  heart  is. 

O  these  were  days  before  the  storm  ! 

O  these  were  days  we  treasure ! 
O  these  were  days  the  blood  ran  warm 

And  bade  us  worship  pleasure  ! 
And  looking  down  the  aisles  of  time 

Where  still  they  faintly  glimmer, 
We  see  them  as  in  pantomime 

Forever  growing  dimmer ! 


54 


A  Strange  Hunt. 


ON  THE  WAY  HOMEWARD. 

Like  hooded  monks  upon  their  knees, 

With  bushy  blackjacks  teeming 
We  came  to  grounds  beneath  whose  trees 

Were  slabs  and  crosses  gleaming ; 
The  shadows  drooped  forlorn  and  chill 

O'er  vaults  the  storm  bombarded ; 
It  was  the  graveyard  on  the  hill, 

A  place  with  dread  regarded ! 


Because  no  pathway  through  it  led, 

Mid  mounds  that  were  a-tangle 
With  wooden  rails  which  mold  o'er-spread, 

Rotting  at  every  angle ; 
A  graveyard  choked  with  brush  and  sage 

Which  hid  the  graves  of  many, 
So  old  no  farmer  knew  its  age, 

With  every  look  uncanny  ! 


We  crept  along  with  noiseless  tread 

Lest  each  heart,  newly  lightened, 
Be,  where  our  pathway  nigh  it  led, 

By  apparitions  frightened  ; 
When  suddenly  before  us  sprang 

Our  hounds,  their  deep  throats  sounding; 
Far,  far  around  the  woodlands  rang 

With  echoes  from  them  bounding ! 


55 


Woods  and  Waters. 

Such  sounds  should  wake  the  dead,  it  seemed, 

When  on  the  trail  thus  lavished ; 
While  we  with  eyes  that  brightly  beamed 

Pursued  them  rapture-ravished  ! 
And  now  we  hear,  with  hearts  a-flame, 

Their  wide-mouthed  bays  awaken, 
Which  signify  the  frightened  game 

Unto  some  tree  has  taken  ! 


Through  bush  and  brake  we  hastened,  pale 

With  fancies  uncommanded ; 
At  least  we  should  not  wholly  fail 

And  reach  home  empty-handed  ! 
I  clomb  the  oak  by  which  they  sate 

Until  in  heights  forbidden, 
I  saw  the  game,  with  heart  elate, 

Among  the  branches  hidden  ! 


"I  see  it,  boys !  "  with  frantic  glee 

I  screamed  a  moment  after ; 
And  looking  up  they  answered  me 

With  lusty  shout  and  laughter  ! 
I  gave  the  bough  a  vigorous  shake 

Unto  the  game  appalling, 
Which  downward  dropped  with  fear  a-quake 

And  parted  branches  falling  ! 

56 


A  Strange  Hunt. 

It  struck  the  bare  ground  with  a  thud, 

But  just  as  every  one  cheered, 
The  frantic  hounds,  so  hot  of  blood, 

Seemed  mystified  and  conjured  ! 
For  though  each  sprang  with  nimble  ease 

That  stood  expectant  near  it, 
Whate'er  it  was  they  strove  to  seize 

Had  vanished  like  a  spirit ! 


Amid-stream  as  an  oarsman  dazed 

Where  mist  obscures  the  landing, 
I  scrambled  downward  half  amazed, 

My  comrades  silent  standing ! 
Unsolved,  my  spirit  o'er  it  dreams 

Through  life's  forlorn  endeavor, 
And  still  to-day  that  mystery  seems 

To  me  as  strange  as  ever ! 


57 


IN  THE  GLOOM. 

ALAS !  she  dwells  apart, 
Nor  yet  is  dead ! — 
Lost  in  the  ruthless  mart, 
Dear  friend,  who  led ; 
And  from  my  mournful  heart 
The  spring  has  fled ! 

The  glad,  the  glorious  spring 
That  flushed  its  bowers ; 

Made  them  with  music  ring, 
And  sweet  with  flowers, 

And  bright  with  flashing  wing, 
Those  happy  hours ! 

O  Love !  beneath  the  skies 
Where  summer  gleams, 

Upon  my  tear-dimmed  eyes 
A  glory  beams; 

Thy  friendship's  paradise 
Was  one  of  dreams  ! 

Each  did  on  high  expand 

Its  colors  rare, 
And  Fancy's  golden  band 

Was  rainbowed  there ; 
So  gleamed  that  Eden-land, 

And  life  was  fair ! 

58 


In  the  Gloom. 


Before  us  heights  sublime, 

And  fields  serene ; 
No  solemn  peal  or  chime 

Has  changed  the  scene ; 
But  Traffic's  smoke  and  grime 

Now  loom  between ! 

Thou,  more  than  half  divine, 

In  friendship  fond, 
Come  with  those  eyes  of  thine 

Like  orbs  beyond; 
Break  forth,  O  Love  of  mine, 

From  Traffic's  bond ! 

Thou  canst  but  be  the  same ; 

No  stain  can  lie 
Upon  thy  joyous  name ; 

Come,  and  my  sky 
Again  shall  glow  with  flame, 

And  woe  pass  by ! 


59 


MY  LADY'S  HAND. 

A  LADY'S  hand  aroused  my  thought, 
When  I  was  young  and  bold ; 
'Twas  one  that  Hart,  the  sculptor,  wrought 
Of  marble  white  and  cold. 


It  may  be,  stirred  by  dream  ideal, 
When  life  was  new  to  him, 

Long  patient  o'er  the  charming  real, 
He  shaped  that  faultless  gem. 


Some  Bluegrass  Belle  with  golden  hair, 
Perhaps,  in  whose  command, 

When  welcomed  to  her  mansion  fair, 
He  found  that  model  hand. 


But  I  was  young,  and  while  I  prized 

The  skill  it  did  denote, 
I  had  a  sweetheart  .    .    .  idolized  .    . 

A  so  I  sat  and  wrote : 

I  know  a  hand  superbly  fit, 

In  art's  superior  class, 
Hart's  hand,  with  grace  so  exquisite, 

Might  equal,  not  surpass. 

60 


My  Ladys  Hand. 

For  oft  I  feel  at  early  morn, 
A  clasp  that  doth  inspire; 

One  that  revives  me  when  forlorn, 
And  sets  my  blood  on  fire. 

And  I  exultant,  striving  much, 

My  lady's  dainty  hand 
Set  forth,  if  not  with  classic  touch, 

In  words  you  understand. 


Such  magic  warmth  it  doth  embalm, 
Such  strength  its  blue  veins  hold, 

A  rose-bud  pressed  within  its  palm 
Would  all  its  leaves  unfold. 


And  further  still,  I  boldly  say, 
Such  rare  blood  nourisheth 

From  the  fond  heart  that  pines  away, 
Its  touch  would  ward  off  death ! 


Sweet  odors  up  among  the  birds 
Would  from  that  rose-bud  blow  ; 

And  as  reward,  what  grateful  words 
Aye  from  that  heart  would  flow  ? 


61 


MY  HEART. 

MY  heart  is  like  the  lonely  shell 
That  trembles  on  the  beach, 
Within  when  e'er  its  billows  swell 
The  ocean's  reach. 


The  dawn  hath  kissed  with  rose  its  lips, 

And  they  no  grief  should  know ; 
Yet  from  the  mournful  tide  it  dips 
Some  kindred  woe. 


And  though  the  tide  dies  down  again, 

Caught  from  its  sombre  stave, 
The  shell  still  breathes  a  mystic  strain — 
One  with  the  wave. 


So  this  poor  shell-like  heart  of  mine 

Echoes  a  kindred  mite, 
Caught  from  the  realms  of  song  divine 
And  infinite ! 


The  tides  that  stir  within  my  soul, 

Swell  upward  wild  and  strong, 

Unfathomed  through  my  spirit  roll 

Such  floods  of  song ! 

62 


My  Heart. 


I  cry  aloud  for  fitting  speech 

That  through  me  earth  may  hear, 
My  glad  heart,  vaguely  in  their  reach, 
Feels  Heaven  is  near ! 


But  on  my  lips  their  music  dies, 
Too  great  the  rapture  given ; 
God  suffers  few  to  pierce  the  skies 
And  leap  in  Heaven  ! 


And  so,  though  like  the  voice  of  June 

My  soul  glad  anthems  fill, 
My  heart  at  length  must  tire  and  swoon 
Of  longing  still ! 


And  I,  though  stirred  by  passion  strong, 

But  for  this  feeble  strain, 
Stand  looking  towards  the  skies  of  song, 
In  vain !   in  vain  ! 


Yet,  mourn  on  touched  with  grief  sublime, 

O  heart,  for  joys  that  flee ! 
Still  breathe  unheard  thy  lowly  rhyme 
One  with  the  sea ! 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Mourn  on !     For  soon  the  glowing  skies 

Shall  break  their  seals  of  blue, 

When  like  a  lark  my  soul  will  rise 

And  flutter  through ! 


No  more  then  in  that  golden  noon 

Of  song  and  sorrow's  might; 
No  more  my  heart  will  tire  and  swoon, 
No  more  of  night ! 


64 


HERS. 

SHE  doubts  and  disbelieves 
And  says  with  honeyed  phrases, 
My  loving  heart  deceives 

When  e'er  it  sings  her  praises. 

But  by  the  breath  that  stirs 

The  murmurous  woods  in  summer, 
My  heart  is  wholly  hers 

Till  death  shall  take  it  from  her ! 


Aye,  by  the  God  above 

In  mortal  chains  who  bound  me, 
But  left  me  hope  and  love 

And  woman's  arm  around  me. 


'Tis  hers — and  hers  alone — 
With  all  its  high  endeavor, 

A  kingdom  and  a  throne 
And  she  its  queen  forever ! 

A  crown  her  brows  above, 

May  fadeless  bays  enwreath  her, 

Embalmed  within  my  love 
Like  soft  and  fragrant  ether ; 

65 


Woods  and  Waters. 

Hers  waxing  like  a  fire, 

The  secret  flame  that  warms  her; 
Lord,  help  my  soul's  desire 

To  yield  what  joys  and  charms  her, 

Till  Earth  shall  gladly  seem 
Some  vast  enchanted  station, 

And  Life  an  endless  dream 
Or  luscious  incantation ! 


Though  Creeds  that  cleave  apart 
Let  separate  graves  enfold  us, 

Forever  heart  to  heart 
The  bonds  of  Nature  hold  us. 


Not  one  who  breathes  and  feels 
Can  help  this  wisdom  seeing, 

Though  none  may  break  the  seals 
And  fathom  soul  and  being ; 

For  heights  of  joy  and  mirth 
Yon  skies  are  still  concealing, 

While  Hate's  abyss  on  earth 
Engulfs  the  depths  of  feeling. 


66 


AT  HAND. 

THOUGH  long  delayed  with  its  clouds  of  white, 
With  its  warm  sunshine  and  breezes  bland, 
In  its  wonted  splendor,  with  music  and  might, 

The  ever-joyous  Spring  is  at  hand, 
Awaking  the  flowers  to  life  and  light 
Over  all  the  beautiful,  brightening  land  ! 


Their  glossy  colors  the  trees  have  donned, 
The  rill  through  grass  like  a  ribbon  slips ; 

A  green  enlacement  doth  fringe  the  pond, 
And  in  the  bower  where  the  honey-bee  sips 

The  glad  earth  lifts  like  a  slenderous  wand 
The  nectared  bloom  to  his  golden  lips  ! 


Behold  the  orchard !     Profuse  and  bright, 
As  clean  and  spotless  as  driven  snow, 

The  apple  trees  stand,  a  vision  of  white, 
In  their  stainless  blossom,  row  on  row, 

In  the  sunlight  flashing,  a  glorious  sight, 
Divine  and  immaculate  in  its  glow ! 


67 


Woods  and  Waters. 


The  flash  of  cloud  and  the  rainbow's  gleam 
The  air  above  with  their  radiance  flood ; 

There's  new-born  splendor  in  pool  and  stream, 
And  a  feast  of  gladness  in  field  and  wood ; 

And  Earth,  enlivened  by  love's  sweet  dream, 
Declares  with  ecstasy  God  is  good ! 


Alas !  alas !  with  the  blessings  gained 

I  too  would  be  happy,  but  I  feel 
A  longing  for  losses  I  have  sustained ! 

Old  thoughts  of  bereavement  through  me  steal, 
And  still  my  heart,  though  subdued  and  pained, 

Doth  cherish  a  wound  it  would  not  heal ! 


My  beautiful  boys,  among  my  girls 

Whose  tresses  dense  but  shadows  ensnare 

When  the  wind  about  them  plays  and  whirls, 
Stood  fairy-like  with  their  yellow  hair! 

The  sunlight  fell  on  their  golden  curls 

And  among  them  nestling  seemed  more  fair ! 


68 


At  Hand. 


The  best  beloved  of  my  household  band, 
Two  little  lords  I  was  wont  to  greet, 

With  their  fair  young  faces  smiling  and  bland, 
With  the  pit-a-pat  of  their  pink-toed  feet, 

And  their  eyes  of  frankness,  so  large  and  grandr 
Are  seen  no  more  in  the  house  or  street ! 


No  voice  so  laden  with  exquisite  powers 
To  their  mother  and  me  now  answereth, 

Nor  sweetest  whispers  amongst  the  flowers ; 
Their  kisses  given  ere  claimed  by  Death, 

The  air  they  breathed  on  these  lips  of  ours, 
More  fragrant  seemed  than  the  rose's  breath  1 


But  while  life's  stream,  like  a  stagnant  brook, 
With  the  dregs  of  sorrow  refused  to  run, 

On  the  steep  hillside,  in  a  grassy  nook, 

We  laid  them,  lisping  "God's  will  be  done  I" 

And  the  spot  becomes  when  we  on  it  look, 
Most  sacred  of  any  under  the  sun ! 


69 


TREES  AND  BIRDS. 

THE  trees  in  Barlow  valley 
Are  high,  so  high, 
Along  each  emerald  alley 
Aloft  they  sway  and  dally 
And  sweep  the  sky. 


With  wind  among  them  sighing, 

Their  tops  expand, 
And  altitudinous  vying, 
The  white  clouds  o'er  them  flying 

Seem  heavenward  fanned. 


Always  within  their  center 

A  summer  wood ; 
For  cane  that  knows  no  winter, 
From  June  a  riven  splinter, 

Among  them  stood. 


A  frail  aerial  leader, 

Of  graceful  mein ; 
Yet  an  excessive  breeder, 
And  like  the  glorious  cedar, 
Is  always  green. 

70 


Trees  and  Birds. 


Papaws,  as  if  forbidden 
To  plant  their  root 
By  side  the  roadways  ridden, 
Therein  securely  hidden, 
Bore  luscious  fruit. 


In  swamps  the  cypress  flowered 

With  numerous  knees ; 
And  there,  superbly  dowered, 
The  giant  poplar  towered 
A  king  of  trees ! 


And  there  ere  breezes  dally, 

Or  waters  flash, 
Where  later  blossoms  rally, 
Hangs  o'er  the  woodland  valley 

A  green  mirage ! 


The  soil  a  bounteous  giver, 

With  mingling  hoods 
The  countless  trees  a-quiver 
For  leagues  along  the  river 
Made  murmurous  woods. 


Woods  and  Waters. 


The  breeze,  a  lazy  lover, 

A  lounger,  too, 
Soft  on  their  leafy  cover 
Rolled  slowly  over,  over, 

Scarce  falling  through. 


The  zephyr  wallowed,  wallowed, 

On  foliage  dense, 

By  green  mouths  swallowed,  swallowed, 
As  each  that  followed,  followed, 

In  indolence ! 


With  these  the  gentler  portion 

That  stirred  their  aisles, 
There  swelled  a  wide  green  ocean 
Of  naught  but  trees  in  motion 
For  miles  and  miles  ! 


But  storm  among  their  branches  ! 

It  made  them  shriek 
And  shout  like  wild  Comanches, 
Or  groan  like  avalanches 

From  Jura's  peak ! 


72 


Trees  and  Birds. 


I  was  up-reared  among  them, 
And  roamed  them  free ; 
Moans  when  tornadoes  wrung  them, 
And  dirges  north  winds  sung  them, 
Roared  like  the  sea  ! 


The  sudden  storm  descending 

With  angry  cloud, 
I  oft  saw  young  trees  bending 
About,  their  tops  extending, 
Wailing  aloud ! 


Saw  oaks  in  desperation 

That  late  were  grave, 
As  daft  with  consternation, 
With  quick  gesticulation 
Their  branches  wave — 


Their  summits  wildly  shaking 

With  moans  severe, 
Their  huge  boles  trembling,  breaking, 
Like  frightened  giants  quaking 

As  crazed  with  fear ! 


73 


Woods  and  Waters. 


A  youth,  perhaps  in  error, 

Half  courting  harm, 
My  heart,  till  skies  were  clearer, 
Would  beat  with  joyful  terror 
And  pleased  alarm — 


The  wind  about  me  wailing, 

Without  delay 
Before  the  gales  assailing, 
I  strove  with  boyish  failing 

To  fly  away — 


While  dreams  within  me  thronging 

Took  grandeur's  form, 
Myself  and  parents  wronging, 
I  fain  would  plunge  me,  longing, 
Into  the  storm ! 


Then  as  from  all  else  riven, 

To  feel  at  last 
A  human  atom  given 
To  boundless  space  and  driven 

Before  the  blast ! 


74 


Trees  and  Birds. 


Perhaps  each  new  sensation, 

Ere  I  could  sing, 
Helped  give  with  approbation 
My  young  imagination 

Its  early  wing. 


A  cloud  in  beauty  straying 

Along  the  sky, 

Would  lure  me  forth  from  playing, 
As  would  the  graceful  swaying 

Of  tree-tops  high. 


For  I  was  reared  beside  you 

And  as  a  child, 

O  wildwoods,  ne'er  denied  you, 
But  did  my  dreams  confide  you 

In  spaces  wild ! 


Have  played  and  romped  among  you, 

When  bright  with  flowers, 
Which,  with  gay  matins  sung  you, 
Each  year  the  glad  spring  flung  you, 
In  fragrant  showers. 


75 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Your  boughs  for  roof  and  rafter. 

Traced  many  a  stream 
With  joy  before  and  after, 
When  life  was  love  and  laughter, 
And  death  a  dream ! 


Have  found  the  city  bitter 

For  songful  moods ; 

I  feel  your  groves  were  fitter, 

And  long  for  gladsome  twitter 

Of  paveless  woods ! 


I  fain  would  plunge  into  you 

As  yours  again ; 

Would  scramble,  ramble  through  you, 
And  breathe  the  airs  that  woo  you, 

O  woodland  main ! 


Have  you  as  balmy  fixer 

Of  galling  pain ; 
Rock  on  your  surf  a  mixer, 
And  get  your  sap-elixir 
Into  each  vein ! 


76 


Trees  and  Birds. 


BIRDS. 

Birds  I  have  fondly  noted ; 

Alike  I  prized 

The  harsh  or  mellow-throated ; 
Not  one  in  woodlands  floated 

That  I  despised. 


The  blue-jay,  bright  and  sprightly, 

And  dashed  with  white, 
High-crested,  flying  lightly, 
In  conduct  somewhat  knightly, 
And  full  of  fight. 


Some  men  in  good  position 

Come  forth  to  say : 
"  This  bird,  without  contrition, 
Goes  on  an  evil  mission 
One  certain  day." 


"This  bird,  a  noisy  being, 

Defiant  mein, 

Voiced  harsh  and  disagreeing, 
On  Fridays  tee-ing,  tee-ing, 

Is  seldom  seen." 

77 


Woods  and  Waters. 


These  men  with  heads  unlevel 

In  chorus  say : 
' '  This  bird  in  secret  revel 
With  dry  straw  serves  the  devil 

That  luckless  day !  " 


He  from  the  truth  must  wander 

Who  illy  speaks; 

This  bird,  which  thus  they  slander, 
Is  brave  as  Alexander 

Who  led  the  Greeks ! 


I've  seen  him  upward  sally 

With  curbless  flight 
And  war  in  space  aerially 
With  fierce  assault  and  rally 
Without  afright ! 


And  while  his  wings  are  nimble. 

The  Eagle's  scream, 
At  which  his  neighbors  tremble, 
But  makes — lest  he  dissemble — 
His  keen  eyes  gleam ! 


Trees  and  Birds. 


Again  his  comrades  flutter 

With  cries  of  pain, 
They  o'er  some  reptile  utter, 
Like  dervishes  that  mutter, 
A  harsh  refrain  ! 


O  blue-jay,  semi-crested, 
Half  king  of  birds  ! 
From  you  by  those  detested 
There  is  no  glory  wrested, 

Though  harsh  their  words ! 


From  this  high  perch  some  move  you 

With  cold  disdain, 
But  myriads,  myriads  love  you, 
And  all  the  heavens  above  you 

Are  your  domain  ! 


BLACK  BIRDS. 

Black  birds  are  coated  various, 

Some  splashed  with  red, 
Some  yellow,  half  gregarious, 
Clear-eyed,  superb,  hilarious — 
To  music  wed. 


79 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Their  songs  are  seldom  other 

Than  single  strains 
That  well  from  one  another, 
And  purl  and  blend  together 
In  soft  refrains. 


Comes  naught  of  melancholy 
From  their  fresh  throats  ; 
If  all  excess  were  folly, 
Some  mingles  with  their  jolly 
Unstinted  notes. 


One  hears  a  mellowed  hushing, 

A  cadence  rare ; 
Then  a  spontaneous  gushing 
Crescendo,  upward  rushing, 

Floods  all  the  air ! 


Though  March  be  scarce  declining, 

Their  notes  serene 
In  song  thus  joyously  twining, 
Seem  blent  with  dew-drops  shining 

On  leaves  of  green. 


80 


Trees  and  Birds. 


Yet,  while  chill  winds  are  straying 

Through  woody  dell, 
These  birds,  their  bent  obeying, 
In  leafless  tree-tops  swaying, 

Their  matins  swell. 


Upon  these  songful  lovers 

One  steals  in  vain ; 
Some  prescience  o'er  them  hovers, 
Approaching,  man  discovers 

Their  quick  disdain. 


You  meet  my  approbation, 

0  birds  sincere ! 
Sing  on  from  elevation 
Just  where  in  isolation 

1  see  and  hear ! 


THE    YELLOW-HAMMER. 

O  dappled  yellow-hammer, 

I  love  you  well ! 
For,  though  you  only  stammer, 
You  are  no  paltry  shammer 

Or  feathered  swell ! 


81 


Woods  and  Waters. 


You  carve  out  excavations 

In  old  dead  trees, 
Within  whose  cozy  stations 
With  wife  and  young  relations 

You  dwell  at  ease. 


There  where  fresh  airs  regale  you, 

Your  country-seat ; 
It  is,  whatever  fail  you, 
If  vicious  foes  assail  you, 

A  safe  retreat. 


What  though  the  blithe  woodpecker 
Your  home  may  haunt  ? 

O  gentle  dominecker, 

He  is  no  family  wrecker, 
Or  gay  romaunt ! 


THE   WOODPECKER. 

In  field  or  broad  savannah 

To  peace  he's  wed; 
Though,  like  a  red  bandanna, 
God  wraps  a  crimson  banner 
About  his  head. 


Trees  and  Birds. 


He  spends  his  morning  leisure 

On  bough  above, 
Or  drills  for  wormy  treasure, 
And  drums  for  simple  pleasure, 

If  not  for  love. 


I  had  within  the  city 

A  dwelling  bounded 
By  woodlands  green  and  pretty, 
Space  which  it  was  a  pity 
High  walls  surrounded. 


Into  a  dead  bough  celling 

That  seemed  to  please, 
This  bird,  though  strange  the  telling,. 
Came  forth  and  carved  a  dwelling 

Among  my  trees. 


From  where  soft-footed  rabbits 

Sought  their  shy  mates, 
From  plenty  came  to  spare-bits 
With  all  his  country  habits 
And  social  traits. 

83 


Woods  and  Waters. 


There  drumming  late  and  early, 

His  querulous  note 
Spread  forth  before  me  clearly, 
The  fields  I  loved  so  dearly 

In  days  remote. 


A  flag  o'er  tall  trees  flowering 

Did  wave  aloof 

'Mid  woods  the  house  embowering, 
From  staff  of  iron  towering 

Up  from  the  roof. 


This  bird,  though  queer  the  notion, 

Seemed  glad  to  come 
And  choose  the  iron  portion, 
And  there  with  rapid  motion 

To  sit  and  drum. 


To  me  this  showed  him  loving 

The  sound  alone ; 
He  drummed  for  hours  unmoving, 
The  whole  house  for  him  proving 

An  aerophone ! 


Trees  and  Birds. 


O  bird,  with  hands  a-clapping, 

I  welcomed  you 
Despite  your  constant  rapping  L 
The  flag  above  you  flapping 

Waved  welcome  too ! 


THE  RAIN  CROW. 

0  rain  crow  flying,  flying, 

From  spot  to  spot ! 

1  hear  your  prophesying, 

I  hear  your  constant  crying, 
But  see  you  not ! 


You  haunt  the  summer  brooklet 

Where  tree-cones  rise, 
Concealed  in  woody  nooklet, 
In  shady  bend  or  crooklet, 
From  human  eyes. 


Your  form  some  oak  embraces, 

Again,  again, 

I  search  where  foliage  laces,, 
I  scan  all  leafy  places, 

In  vain,  in  vain. 

85 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Like  some  migrating  swallow, 

You  chatter  out ; 
Your  voice  I  cannot  follow, 
So  echoes  through  the  hollow 

And  flits  about ! 


At  length  in  volume  gaining, 

It  seems  to  me, 
With  mimic  sounds  profaning, 
A  rain  crow's  loud  complaining 

In  every  tree ! 


Each  unto  tremors  bobbing 
Which  through  it  run, 
Its  woody  pulses  throbbing, 
With  all  the  forest  sobbing 
In  unison ! 


I,  like  the  trees,  revere  you, 

And  halfway  fear; 
I  come  so  close,  so  near  you, 
I  hear  you,  hear  you,  hear  you, 

But  only  hear ! 

86 


Trees  and  Birds. 


0  bird,  do  you  dissemble, 

Or  seem  to  be  ? 
Are  you  so  fleet,  so  nimble, 

1  see  the  leaves  a-tremble, 

Yet  only  see ! 


Whether  a  voice  that  wanders, 

As  cast  away; 

Or  sound  some  spirit  squanders, 
My  soul  the  mystery  ponders 

From  day  to  day  ! 


THE  TURTLE  DOVE. 

Some  voice  the  barnyard  zoning 

Soft  as  of  love, 
And  as  o'er  ruins  moaning, 
'Tis  yours  some  sorrow  owning, 

O  weeping  dove ! 


I  would  not  basely  lower  you 

By  any  chance, 
For  standing  here  before  you, 
I  see  the  mantle  o'er  you, 

Of  old  romance ! 

87 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Nor  would  I  stir  contention, 

Nor  deem  it  true, 
By  man's  profuse  invention 
In  Holy  Writ  a  mention 
Is  made  of  you  ! 


In  past  eonic  ages, 

Again,  again, 
Your  kind  in  sacred  pages 
And  in  profane,  engages 

The  praise  of  men. 


A  nest  of  woven  masses 

Should  be  your  guild's, 
Of  soft  hair  that  surpasses 
The  cone  in  stubble  grasses 
The  partridge  builds. 


Yet,  this  exposed  on  fences, 

Though  shaped  with  zest, 
The  days  when  love  commences 
With  joy  to  thrill  your  senses, 
Is  not  a  nest ! 


Trees  and  Birds. 


No  sign  of  down  or  feather, 

Sticks  loosely  flung 
In  circling  form  together, 
Here  careless  of  the  weather 
You  rear  your  young ! 


Yet,  though  by  Nature  driven 

This  phase  to  show ; 
For  offspring  from  you  riven, 
One  compensation  given, 
Is  fast  they  grow  ! 


You  are  of  holiest  savor; 

In  Palestine 

You  met  with  heavenly  favor, 
Which  serves  to  make  you  graver 

And  more  divine. 


About  you,  patient  lover, 

Illumined-eyed 
Could  mortal  vision  hover, 
Revealed,  I  might  discover 

A  beauty  wide ! 

89 


Woods  and  Waters. 


In  Nature  living  slowly, 

In  virtue  true, 
You  are  a  symbol  holy, 
Type  of  the  meek  and  lowly 

And  faithful  too ! 


For  you,  through  life's  endeavor, 

Through  tribe's  increase, 
Like  Eagles,  parting  never, 
Dwell  with  your  choice  forever 
In  loving  peace ! 


:Sweet  bird,  man  is  your  debtor ! 

Though  brief  his  span 
Oft  marriage-bond  doth  fetter; 
You  are  more  true  and  better 

Than  many  a  man ! 


And  yet  with  some  obliqueness, 

If  not  a  sin, 

In  all  your  blessed  meekness, 
One  sees  a  little  weakness 

Ooze  out  again. 

90 


Trees  and  Birds. 


Your  gentle  life  pursuing, 

O  weeping  dove, 
Poured  forth  in  tones  subduing, 
There  seems  too  much  of  wooing ! 

Too  much  of  love ! 


IN  DEEPER  WOODS. 

Yet  many  a  voice  that  wrangles, 

And  wing  unfurled, 
Like  bell  that  only  jangles 
Dwells  in  your  deeper  tangles, 
O  woodland  world ! 


There  your  opossums  hobble, 

Your  squirrels  bark, 
Wild  turkeys  yelp  and  gobble ; 
I've  heard  your  raccoons  squabble 

Harsh  through  the  dark ! 


With  head  uplifted  seeing, 
With  graceful  bounds, 
To  me  most  disagreeing, 
I  saw  a  red  fox  fleeing 

From  bellowing  hounds ! 


Woods  and  Waters. 


He  sprang  with  easeful  motion 

As  strong  of  breath, 
But  with  the  instinctive  notion, 
That  to  be  caught  his  portion 
Was  surely  death ! 


Oft  he  displayed  his  cunning 

When  on  his  track 
Far  through  the  forest  running, 
The  loud  pursuers  shunning, 

He  doubled  back. 


Urged  on  by  heartless  master 

With  pleasures  grim, 
They  crowded  on  him  faster, 
Till  all  was  dire  disaster 
And  death  to  him ! 


Still  larger  game  abounded ; 

With  frantic  breath, 
I  saw  while  baying  sounded, 
A  fleet  young  deer  surrounded 

And  shot  to  death ! 


92 


Trees  and  Birds. 


But  not  for  me  such  slaughter ! 

In  their  defense 

My  shy  soul — if  one  caught  her, 
Claimed  kinship — half  a  daughter 

Of  woodlands  dense ! 


I  let  no  trammels  hamper, 
It  meets  my  frown 

And  o'er  me  casts  a  damper ; 

I'd  rather  see  game  scamper 
Than  shoot  it  down. 


Sometimes  for  beauty  hunting 

I  used  to  stand 
And  half  believe,  confronting 
So  much  emblazoned  bunting, 

It  fairyland ! 


There  came  from  mosses  olden 

The  trumpet's  blare, 
And  colors  gleaming  golden, 
And  colors  that  embolden, 
Were  waving  there ! 

93 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Though  some  looked  pale  and  haunted. 

Yet  somewhere  nigh 
The  red  and  blue  undaunted, 
Like  flags  the  fairest  flaunted, 

Were  hung  on  high ! 


Thus  were  the  woods  attired 

In  sheen  profuse, 
And  there  were  trees  admired 
When  first  my  heart  aspired 

To  woo  the  Muse  ! 


O  trees,  some  old  and  hoary, 

Yet  green  and  grand ! 
You  have  renowned  in  story 
Few  peers  in  woodland  glory 
Of  any  land ! 


I  dream  of  being  under 

Your  boughs  a-blow, 
And  in  my  dream  I  wonder 
If  man  who  cleaves  asunder 
Has  laid  you  low  ! 

94 


Trees  and  Birds. 


Though  hopes  of  wealth  besiege  us, 

Only  a  clown 

With  greed  and  grit  egregious, 
And  actions  sacrilegious 

Could  hew  you  down ! 


That  death  is  still  its  wages 

Is  true  of  sin ; 
Yet  this,  and  like  outrages, 
Trade's  edict  down  the  ages 

Demands  of  men ! 


95 


SISTER  DOLOROSA. 

ODOLOROSA,  like  to  one 
Who  would  from  gaiety  flee ! 
Sweet  Dolorosa,  if  a  nun, 

Could  you  more  pious  be  ? 
For  while  your  gentle  spirit  grieves, 

You  wear  a  timid  look, 
Like  the  young  fawn  amid  green  leaves 
That  haunts  the  summer  brook ! 


Your  eyes  of  hazel  do  no  harm, 

Nor  does  your  hair  of  brown ; 
Such  eyes  are  woman's  chiefest  charm, 

Such  hair  is  woman's  crown. 
O  Dolorosa,  wherefore  pour 

Upon  them  ceaseless  tears  ? 
Sweet  Dolorosa,  weep  no  more, 

Like  these  each  charm  endears ! 


96 


Sister  Dolorosa. 


Yet,  laughter  sometimes  from  you  steals, 

A  fresh  melodious  note, 
And  sometimes  bursts  in  merry  peals 

And  bubbles  through  your  throat. 
Ah  then,  as  if  with  joy  endowed, 

A  light  your  face  embowers, 
Like  sunshine  clasping  up  the  cloud 

That  melts  in  April  showers ! 


But  while  with  tears  still  unrestrained 

You  cast  your  looks  above, 
Who  would  have  thought  you  entertained 

A  dream  of  wedded  love  ? 
Yet  go,  dear  girl,  where  duty  calls, 

And  life's  true  mission  fill ; 
Here  is  a  heart,  whate'er  befalls, 

Which  you  may  turn  to  still ! 


97 


MY  LADY'S  SLEEVES. 

OLADY  fair,  these  summer  noons, 
With  look  and  thought  beguiling, 
Between  two  miniature  balloons 
I  see  you  smiling,  smiling. 

Your  new  dress  glows  with  lusters  soft 
Which  make  me  dearly  love  you, 

But  as  they  fain  would  soar  aloft, 
Your  huge  sleeves  mount  above  you ! 

I  held  them  long  a  comic  turn 

Of  Fashion's  queer  abuses ; 
Not  until  now  did  I  discern 

Their  airy  fairy  uses ! 

Your  sleeves,  your  elephantine  sleeves, 
You  house  your  secret  laughs  in ; 

Each  quivering  like  to  aspen  leaves, 
Lets  slip  the  vocal  drafts  in ! 


98 


My  Ladys  Sleeves. 


With  dainty  pantomimic  shout, 
Their  eyes  like  burning  tapers, 

Therein  they  frolic  all  about, 
And  cut  their  merry  capers. 

Since  you  my  idolized  have  been, 
Their  count  I  can  not  reckon ; 

But  just  before  they  enter  in, 
To  me  they  cutely  beckon. 

As  if  within  each  cone  expands 

A  paradise  of  blisses, 
I  see  them  clap  their  little  hands 

And  proffer  me  their  kisses. 

They  come  like  thrush  songs  that  entrance,. 

Poured  forth  among  the  stubble ; 
And  though  you  coldly  look  askance, 

Up  through  your  throat  they  bubble. 


99 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Unto  them  cling,  though  you  assume 

A  silent,  grave  demeanor, 
The  odors  of  the  opening  bloom 

And  grasses  growing  greener. 

And  I  beside  life's  summer  stream 
Sojourning  long  and  lonely, 

For  peace  and  happiness  supreme 
Ask  you  for  one  thing  only : 

Among  their  joyance,  though  you  mask 
The  alluring  laughs  that  start  in, 

In  love's  sweet  sunshine  while  you  bask, 
O  lady,  put  my  heart  in ! 


HOME  OF  MY  HEART. 

NOT  here  in  the  land  Greed  debases, 
Where  the  weaker  go  down  in  the  fight; 
In  the  war  for  the  spoils  of  high-places, 

Go  down  into  wrong  with  the  right, 
Overcome  by  the  might  of  the  strong 
In  the  rush  of  the  merciless  throng ! 

But  down  in  the  land  of  true  glory, 

The  land  said  to  lie  in  a  trance, 
Enrobed  in  the  glamor  of  story, 

In  the  kingdom  of  olden  romance ! 
Down  there  is  the  home  of  my  heart, 
Remote  from  the  work-a-day  mart ! 

Down  there  at  the  base  of  a  mountain, 

By  a  rivulet  seeking  the  sea, 
Which  springs  from  the  mystical  fountain 

In  mythical  lore  said  to  be 
On  the  crest  of  Aonai !  who  knows? 
Down  there  where  the  amaranth  blows ! 

For  my  soul  of  the  Muse  is  a  lover, 

Of  loyalist  lovers  and  young; 
Of  her  and  the  soft  skies  above  her, 

Whose  clouds  are  like  blossoms  up-hung; 
Of  the  sweet-scented  vales  where  she  roves, 
And  the  charm  and  the  rune  of  her  groves  t 


MY  FIRST  TEACHER. 

I  HEAR  a  sudden  clatter, 
And  know  by  noisy  shout, 
And  many  feet  that  patter, 

The  city-school  is  out. 
I  hear  the  children  prattle, 

And  on  their  teachers  call, 
As  they  begin  the  battle 
That  surely  comes  to  all. 

A  thought  arrests  and  drafts  me 

And  clasps  me  where  I  stand, 
And  backward  Fancy  wafts  me 

To  youth's  enchanted  land ; 
Where  under  leafy  thatches 

I  marched  into  the  wood, 
Among  the  hazel  patches 

Wherein  the  school-house  stood. 


About  my  teachers  thronging 

Are  memories  fading  dim, 
The  soul  within  me  longing, 

I  call  aloud  for  them ! 
But  Time,  the  necromancer, 

Has  conjured  them  away; 
My  calls  they  do  not  answer, 

My  teachers !  where  are  they  ? 


My  First  Teacher. 


A  preacher's  buxom  daughter, 

With  hair  of  golden  glow, 
By  Massac's  limpid  water, 

First  taught  me  long  ago. 
She  was  a  woman  jolly, 

Coquettish,  cultured,  smart ; 
And  free  from  melancholy 

Her  young  and  happy  heart. 


With  mein  of  high-born  lady, 

With  archness  in  her  looks, 
From  play  grounds  cool  and  shady, 

She  bade  us  come  to  books. 
The  youths  into  their  places 

With  haste  and  bluster  rushed, 
Their  fresh  and  eager  faces 

With  new  excitement  flushed. 


In  acts  of  composition 

She  our  young  minds  to  dower, 
Each  day  without  contrition, 

Indulged  us  half  an  hour; 
And  thus,  this  noble  woman, 

Long  blessed  be  her  name, 
Showed  patience  more  than  human 

To  hear  us  read  the  same ! 

103 


Woods  and  Waters. 


I  look  forth  from  the  casement 

On  steep  and  sloping  lands, 
O'er  which  a  green  enlacement 

Like  emerald  fringe  expands  \ 
Along  whose  margins  streaming 

Or  spread  in  flats  below, 
I  see  bright  waters  gleaming 

From  Massac's  overflow. 


From  bottoms  far  before  us 

Oft  comes  a  jar  of  notes, 
A  vast  amphibian  chorus 

That  swells  from  rasping  throats ;, 
And  while  I  hear  the  splashing 

Of  watery  pools  and  springs, 
Among  the  tree-tops  flashing 

I  see  emblazoned  wings. 


Each  tree  that  poses  dreamlike, 

Now,  breeze-awakened  stands ; 
They  lean  and  sway  and  seem  like 

Engaged  in  shaking  hands ; 
While  skies  with  light  clouds  pendent 

High  o'er  the  forest-wall, 
With  blue  the  most  resplendent, 

Are  arching  over  all. 

104 


My  First  Teacher. 

I  gazed  with  raptured  feeling 

Long  on  the  sylvan  scene, 
So  beauteous  and  appealing 

Appeared  the  country-green. 
Up  rose  fair  hopes  enchanting 

My  senses  for  the  time; 
I  found  my  young  heart  panting 

To  breathe  a  thought  in  rhyme. 


With  instinct  as  a  leader, 

Although  of  tender  age, 
I  had  searched  my  little  reader 

For  each  poetic  page ; 
And  no  offense  committing, 

I  thought  the  page  of  rhyme 
Or  poesy  more  befitting, 

Possessed  of  pleasing  chime. 


So  under  this  condition, 

For  better  or  for  worse, 
I  wrote  my  composition 

In  simple,  childlike  verse ; 
And  when  I  stood  before  her 

And  read  my  poem  there, 
A  roseate  blush  flushed  o'er  her 

That  made  her  twice  as  fair. 

105 


Woods  and  Waters. 


"  Come  here !  "  she  said  excited, 

' '  Come  here  !     I  give  you  this  !  " 
Pressed  on  my  lips  delighted, 

A  woman's  fervent  kiss! 
Her  love  the  more  to  show  it, 

She  added,  bless  her  heart, 
"  You  are  my  little  poet, 

I  claim  you  from  the  start !  " 


"The  Muse's  newest  jewel, 

Sing  out  and  make  a  name  ! 
The  world  is  cold  and  cruel, 

But  warms  to  love  and  fame ! 
If  words  like  mine  embolden 

Or  urge  to  noble  deed, 
Go  win  opinions  golden 

Of  all  who  haply  read ! " 


Time  sweeps  me  onward  ever, 

Far  from  the  joyous  scene, 
Yet  I  through  life's  endeavor, 

Where  blessings  intervene, 
Have  met  with  nothing  better 

Than  these  kind  words  of  hers 
Nor  shall  my  heart  forget  her 

While  life-blood  in  me  stirs. 

1 06 


My  First  Teacher. 

My  secret  thoughts  disclosing, 

As  then  it  still  is  true, 
O  Roxie,  when  composing, 

My  mind  reverts  to  you ! 
Still  I  strive  energetic, 

And  have  much  pain  withstood, 
To  make  your  words  prophetic 

And  prove  your  judgment  good ! 


107 


KATY-DID  RONDELS. 


(On  reading  Mrs.  J.  I.  McKinney's  poems  in  the  newspapers  signed 
Katy-did.) 


KATY-DID,  thy  nom-de-plume 

Suggests  a  sylvan  palace  hid 
Where  flossy  fancies  blow  and  bloom, 
O  Katy-did ! 

Thy  dreams,  its  fairy  scenes  amid, 

Do  beauteous  form  and  face  assume 
And  look  through  real  lash  and  lid : 

En-clad  from  some  aerial  loom 

Whose  woof  mysterious  shuttles  thrid 
With  soft-spun  strays  of  light  and  gloom, 
O  Katy-did ! 


1 08 


Katy-did  Rondels. 


On  flashing  wings  the  silence  feels, 

Each  thought  new-born  ideally  springs, 
And  close  about  one's  vision  wheels 
On  flashing  wings; 

Bright  words  to  which  some  new  light  clings 

That  flutter  through  fresh-broken  seals 
From  out  thy  fairy  imaginings ; 

Like  birds  no  more  the  blossom  shields, 

Whose  equipoise  mid  ruby  rings 
The  sheen  of  dainty  plumes  reveals 
On  flashing  wings ! 


Scarce  sweeter  song  amongst  the  flowers 

Doth  any  throat  for  joy  prolong ; 
And  Art  on  Love's  ethereal  towers, 
Scarce  sweeter  song ! 

Its  April  chimes  are  clear  and  strong, 

And  patter  down  with  healing  powers 
On  bosoms  scathed  by  sin  and  wrong. 

The  daintiest  bird  in  summer  bowers 

That  sings  where  sheltering  shadows  throng 
Pours  forth  upon  the  charmed  hours 
Scarce  sweeter  song ! 


109 


IN  THE  AIR. 

WHO  is  it  singing,  maid  or  lover, 
Waifs  of  a  song  so  near  ? 
Form  of  no  human  can  I  discover, 

Whose  is  the  voice  I  hear 
Sudden  as  laughter,  as  clear  and  strong, 
Bantering  the  birds  for  a  burst  of  song  ? 

Is  it  some  Sprite  of  the  water-fall — 

Spirit  the  warm  wind  frees — 
Ranging  the  bounds  of  the  forest- wall, 

Joying  among  the  trees, 
Under  concealment  of  reed  and  vine, 
Charming  the  dwellers  of  oak  and  pine  ? 

Is  it  a  Peri — some  fair  out-cast — 

Mantled  with  pink  and  gold, 
Veiled  in  yon  cloudlet  just  floated  past, 

Filling  with  memories  old, 
Chanting  as  idly  the  air-ship  strays, 
Gladsome  refrains  of  her  Eden-days? 

APRIL  it  is !     As  the  soft  air  clears, 

Sweet  is  the  joy  of  her 
Tripping  as  wont  down  the  columned  years 

Setting  Earth's  heart  a-stir, 
Making  the  sky  and  woodlands  ring 
Filled  with  the  praises  of  God  and  Spring  I 


STRAYED. 

THY  keel  has  touched  the  haunted  shore  that  lies 
Beyond  the  sweep  of  all  but  museful  eyes, 
And  shining  through  thy  verse  are  golden  gleams 
Of  skies  that  arch  the  lovely  land  of  dreams ; 
And  yet  thy  keel,  with  all  its  fairy  range 
About  Song's  reedy  isles,  thou  dost  exchange 
For  horse  and  phaeton,  O  fair  poet,  strayed — 
Though  in  unsullied  garments  long  arrayed  ! 

I  envy  him  the  glory  of  his  ride, 
Who  lured  thee  from  thy  keel  and  seas  so  wide ! 
And  though  his  gray  head  bears  the  rime  of  age, 
Against  him  I  could  ceaseless  warfare  wage ; 
Sayest  thou  I  ought  not?     Let  me  then  condemn 
In  kindly  words  thy  erring  jaunt  with  him ; 
Or  shall  I  deem,  the  traitorous  action  done, 
My  heart's  own  heroine  was  not  wholly  won  ? 

Alas !  how  like  an  old-time  Troubadour 
Who  wandered  forth,  in  love  with  dusky  Moor, 
And  sang  the  burden  of  his  bosom's  pain 
With  lyre  in  hand,  as  though  he  loved  in  vain, 
Have  I  in  tears  mid  alien  listeners  stood, 
And  winning  fast  opinions  golden-good, 
Thy  worthy  praises  hymned  to  plaudits  wild? 
Or  turned,  arousing  passions  undefiled, 
To  hopeless  love  the  theme  that  most  endears, 
And  wooing  sorrow  sung  to  ravished  ears  ? 

in 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Such  sweet  response  at  times  stole  forth  from  thee, 

Thy  very  accents,  half  bewildering  me, 

With  poesy  rife,  fell  on  my  tranced  ear, 

Like  words  of  some  fair  spirit  dreamed  of  here ! 

In  them  did  dwell  a  talismanic  power 

Whose  wondrous  touch,  like  dewdrop  on  a  flower, 

Pellucid  fancies  o'er  my  senses  threw; 

And  when  I  called  to  pay  thee  homage  due, 

I  crossed  thy  threshhold,  saw  thy  room  expand, 

And  stood  before  thee  as  in  Fairyland ! 

A  world  of  wealth  for  goodly  ease  ordained, 
Or  realm  enchanted  where  some  goddess  reigned ; 
And  this — wherein  the  richest  jewels  gleamed — 
And  this,  thy  room,  her  splendid  palace  seemed ; 
From  chandeliers  did  mellow  radiance  pour, 
And  gorgeous  carpets  flamed  along  the  floor ; 
In  carven  niches  tiny  statues  posed, 
And  damask  curtains  o'er  each  window  closed ; 
Rare  were  the  paintings  that  adorned  the  wall, 
And  golden  glamors  blossomed  over  all ! 

Such  was  the  charm  that  when  I  turned  away, 
Some  secret  shell  within  my  bosom  lay ; 
For  in  my  breast  when  from  thy  presence  gone, 
I  heard  a  sound  that  trembled  on  and  on ! 
Or  whence  arose  the  sweet  continuous  din  ? 
My  tongue  spun  not  this  strangest  air  within; 
Nor  through  my  shut  lips  came  the  charmed  note, 
Nor  from  my  heart,  for  that  was  in  my  throat ! 


Strayed. 

Since  thus  embued  with  Music's  phantom  tone, 
What  wonder  that  its  sound  doth  tremble  on  ? 
Blown  softly  down  the  azure  aisles  of  Time, 
Like  some  melodious  and  unbroken  chime  ? 

Or  that  my  soul  to  passion's  cureless  wound, 
Thrill  like  a  lute  whose  strings  incessant  sound! 
Or  harp  aeolian,  one  sweet  sighs  have  strung, 
Within  Love's  holy  temple  high  up-hung  ? 
Or  that  I  sang  until  with  vast  delight, 
I  saw  thee,  beauteous  and  inspiring  sight, 
In  minds  of  others  caught  up  as  their  theme, 
Forth-imaged  shining  like  a  golden  dream  ? 

In  fair  Provence  or  sunny  clime  of  France, 
Where  Music  first  eclipsed  the  flashing  lance, 
Since  Heloise  loved  in  shadowed  days  and  dimmed, 
Has  Woman  heard  her  praise  more  nobly  hymned  ? 
In  dells  where  first  the  shy  young  Muses  roved, 
The  sacred  soil  by  minstrels  still  beloved ; 
In  classic  groves  in  far-off  famous  lands, 
Where  sentient  strings  were  twanged  by  master  hands, 
What  ardent  poet,  since  Tasso  wooed  in  vain, 
Has  sung  for  love  a  more  heroic  strain? 

Dwells  there  a  Knight  in  that  romantic  land, 
Which  curbs  and  holds  the  turbid  Rio  Grande, 
Whose  daring  storms  the  soul  with  fiery  shower, 
May  cope  with  him  who  courts  the  Muse's  power? 


Woods  and  Waters. 


On  Honor's  field,  no  matter  whose  the  gain, 
Drenched  with  the  blood  of  fearless  heroes  slain, 
Since  first  the  morning  stars  together  sang, 
From  northern  shores  whence  bold  barbarians  sprang, 
To  green  plateaux  where  fairest  flowers  unfold, 
In  southern  seas  and  lands  of  sun  and  gold, 
For  any  maid  whose  heart  e'er  valor  won, 
What  worthier  deed  in  all  the  world  was  done  ? 

In  Love's  foray  or  battle's  deadlier  shock, 
Though  envious  lips  his  songful  prowess  mock, 
Wherever  found  in  all  enlightened  lands, 
In  war  cut  down  or  slain  by  murderous  hands, 
The  poet's  fame  mid  Music's  heavenly  chimes, 
Song-nourished,  lives  and  thrives  in  after  times ! 
For  still  the  gods  rejoice  when  he  is  born, 
And  him  endow  with  conquering  love  and  scorn ; 
Hence  he  from  force  beyond  our  human  ken, 
Receives  from  birth  a  matchless  strength  within ; 
And  since  the  day  his  word  aroused  the  Greeks, 
A  deathless  god-head  in  him  breathes  and  speaks  ! 

Then  do  I,  though  I  stir  the  human  throng, 
And  numbers  sweet  with  pathos  still  prolong, 
Through  reed  and  pipe  that  seem  to  share  my  pain, 
But  vainly  pour  my  soul's  sequestered  strain  ? 
Ah,  no !    No  more  the  earthy  highways  charm ; 
Reflection  hath  dispelled  my  heart's  alarm ! 


114 


Strayed. 

By  longings  urged  Heaven-breathing  poets  feel, 
Haste  thou  and  leap  into  thy  gleaming  keel ! 
To  shores  receding  touch  thy  smiling  lips, 
And  bend  to  oars  that  send  with  lilting  dips, 
Like  petrel  wing-beats  over  rolling  waves, 
Thy  keel  careering  timed  to  rhythmic  staves ! 

With  maiden  hands  still  smite  the  pleading  lyre, 
A  fond  enthusiast  rilled  with  fragrant  fire ; 
Inspired  by  passions  freed  from  earth's  despair, 
As  fair  and  young  as  breathes  the  morning  air; 
A  soul,  more  bright  than  hers  of  Mityline, 
Of  sun  and  sea  and  isles  of  summer-green ; 
Aglow  with  hope  and  fresh  from  fancy's  store 
Full  of  new  songs  and  thoughts  undreamed  before; 
Strive  on  until  the  golden  days  arrive, 
A  maiden  rife  with  poesy  live  and  strive; 
Though  not  so  rash  as  burning  Sappho  strove, 
Oh!  that  thou  could'st  like  burning  Sappho  lovel 


IN  THE  OLD  ROADWAY. 

DOWN  a  rugged  pathway  skirted 
By  underbrush  brown  and  sere, 
My  boyhood's  hope  unasserted, 

With  words  unsaid  she  should  hear, 
In  the  sombre  November  weather, 

The  great  sun  shorn  of  his  flame, 
We  out  of  the  woods  together 
Into  the  Old  Roadway  came. 

From  before  us  the  wild  hare  bounded, 

A  fleet-footed,  timorous  thing, 
And  the  call  of  the  raincrow  sounded 

O'er  the  whirr  of  the  partridge  wing ; 
While  the  wind  like  a  loud-mouthed  devil 

Howled  up  in  the  tree-tops  high, 
And  the  leaves  in  an  insane  revel 

Through  quivering  reeds  rushed  by. 

Into  the  Old  Roadway  jesting 

We  came,  her  heart  full  of  cheer ; 
But  the  true  was  my  courage  testing, 

And  I  was  distressed  with  care. 
I  hoped  that  Heaven  would  compel  her 

To  tarry  a  moment  or  so, 
For  I  loved  her,  but  could  not  tell  her, 

And  this  caused  all  my  woe ! 

116 


In  the  Old  Roadway. 

But  in  the  dear  days  that  were  over, 

In  my  boyhood's  dreams  forsooth, 
Was  I  not  her  girlhood's  lover  ? 

Was  she  not  the  joy  of  my  youth  ? 
And  now  at  the  golden  landing 

I  touched  of  man's  estate, 
While  she  was  a  maiden  standing 

At  womanhood's  glorious  gate ! 


From  face  and  eyes  that  were  gifted,. 

She  gave  me  the  look  that  stirs ; 
My  troubled  soul  was  uplifted, 

It  seemed  that  my  life  was  hers ! 
But  the  gloom  of  skies  overclouded 

She  could  in  my  face  behold, 
And  thoughts  that  upon  me  crowded 

Still  left  me  my  sorrow  untold ! 


We  stood  in  the  Roadway  parting, 

The  storm  made  desolate  moan ; 
She — she  to  the  school-house  starting, 

But  /to  wander  alone ! 
She  only  thought  of  the  classes 

Still  missing  her  face  that  day, 
And  down  through  the  woodland  passes 

I  watched  her  hasten  away  ! 


117 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Hard  by  in  straggling  disorder, 

A  village  loomed  in  the  wood ; 
And  over  beyond  its  border 

The  old  academy  stood. 
I  saw  its  gray  walls  gleaming, 

I  saw  her  enter  its  door ; 
Still  stand  in  the  Roadway  dreaming, 

But  never  have  seen  her  more ! 


Yet  memories  growing  dimmer 

Which  burn  on  my  life's  rude  track, 
Most  fragrant  and  brightest  that  glimmer 

Upon  me  looking  back — 
God  knows  that  the  gracious  favor 

Had  held  all  those  in  eclipse 
To  have  kissed  in  its  morning  flavor 

The  breathing  rose  of  her  lips ! 


118 


A  JUNE  CAROL. 

THEIR  chilly  spenders  the  moons  withhold 
And  earth  no  more  is  so  dark  and  cold; 
The  June  suns  sift  through  the  blossomed  trees, 
As  they  faintly  stir  in  the  blithesome  breeze; 
And  their  full-blown  leaves  shed  an  emerald  haze 
That  darkly  gleams  down  the  woodland  ways, 
While  the  fragrant  flowers  and  ferns  uphold 
In  the  mossy  hollows  their  plumes  of  gold. 


O  let's  follow  the  trail  of  the  shower 
Down  forest-lanes  to  its  sylvan  bower ! 
Along  under  the  trees  where  sun-glances  pour, 
Through  the  glimmering  shade  to  its  leafy  door ! 
For  gladness  bides  in  a  favorite  nook 
In  secret  fastnesses  down  by  the  brook, 
In  the  Rain's  green  palace  of  flowers  and  ferns 
Where  fair  Almalthea  her  horn  overturns ! 


119 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Where  the  butterfly  dwells,  and  the  wild  rose  tips 
Her  nectarous  cup  to  his  golden  lips ; 
Where  the  brown  bee,  bending  the  frail  harebell, 
At  blissful  ease  sips  the  pure  hydromel ; 
Where  flowery  censers,  so  daintily  hung 
The  slenderous  boughs  and  branches  among, 
By  a  bird-wing  stirred  or  a  zephyr  too  near, 
Sweetly  spill  their  perfumes  in  the  atmosphere ! 


O  hie  with  me  to  the  vine-clad  nook, 

To  the  Rain's  green  palace  down  by  the  brook ! 

For  long  in  its  center,  sweet  and  true, 

My  heart  has  kept  a  secret  for  you ! 

Haste,  Love,  haste !    For  the  flowers  of  June, 

Like  the  hopes  of  youth,  will  fade  so  soon ! 

For  all  glad  things  flying  hours  pursue, 

And  my  secret  will  lose  its  charm  for  you ! 


The  big  round  suns,  now  so  warm  and  nigh, 
Will  quickly  go  down  in  a  clouded  sky, 
And  moons  come  up  with  their  splendors  cold, 
Chilling  the  fair  flowers  in  their  hearts  of  gold. 
The  blossoms  and  leaves  from  the  tree-tops  tall, 
On  the  earth  made  dreary  will  redden  and  fall, 
And  the  trail  of  the  shower  down  the  forest-lanes 
Will  soon  be  obscured  by  the  ruinous  rains ! 


120 


JESSIE  OR  JESSICA,  WHICH  ? 

FROM  the  land  of  song  and  story, 
From  my  own  dear  land  you  came, 
For  you  are  clad  in  its  glamour  and  glory, 
Its  garments  of  shadow  and  flame. 


The  loves  that  the  long  summers  lend  her 
There  reared,  in  you  may  be  traced ; 

A  blood-red  rose  daily  flaunts  its  splendor 
At  the  belt  encircling  your  waist. 


Your  name,  not  another  may  match  it, 
Would  a  Poet's  page  enrich ; 

I  heard  it  spoken,  but  failed  to  catch  it, 
Was  it  Jessie  or  Jessica,  which  ? 

The  gods  of  the  South  endowed  you 
With  glances  that  daze  like  wine, 

Then  decreed  and  at  length  allowed  you 
To  look  on  the  face  of  mine ! 


Or  you  unto  songs  have  listened 

That  the  Lorelei  sang  at  eve, 
Till  fatal  charms  in  your  dark  eyes  glistened 

Whereat  I  tremble  and  grieve. 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Or  your  soul  in  a  dream  rejoices 
Imbibed  under  languid  moons, 

Amid  the  thunder  of  reptile  voices 
Awaking  the  somber  lagoons. 


Hence  there  is  a  strange  fascination, 
Which  makes  me  about  you  see 

A  nocturnal  beauty,  a  weird  elevation, 
That  stirs  the  mystic  in  me ! 


And  though  I  may  seem  undaunted, 
My  weakness  leaving  no  trace, 

Yet  I  have  felt  that  my  heart  was  haunted 
Since  you  first  looked  on  my  face ! 


But  there  are  rosy  transfusions 
In  your  girlish  mien  that  declare 

Your  soul  embued  with  as  bright  illusions 
As  your  face  is  aerially  fair ! 


And  so  sweet  are  the  moods  that  grace  you, 
And  so  modest  your  sense  of  shame, 

From  a  kindling  blush,  could  I  kiss  and  embrace  you, 
You  would  burst  into  fragrant  flame ! 


122 


Jessie  or  Jessica,   Which  f 


Your  body  with  incense  laden, 

Would  burn  like  a  gorgeous  bloom, 

And  melt  away,  O  exquisite  maiden ! 
And  henceforth  be  a  perfume. 


Through  the  land  where  the  leaf  is  greenest 

That  flutters  on  tree  or  weed, 
In  the  golden  clime  whose  sky  is  serenest, 

In  paths  parallel  we  proceed. 


And  though  never  the  green  leaves  screen  us, 
And  though  each  the  other  descries, 

Like  a  broad  blue  ribbon  rippling  between  us, 
The  River  of  Silence  lies ! 


In  the  clasp  of  billows  elysian 
The  opposite  sand  dunes  gleam, 

Whereon  you  pass  like  a  radiant  vision 
One  sometimes  sees  in  a  dream ! 


Though  a  cloud  with  a  silvery  scallop 

Partially  obstructs  the  view, 
I  will  fold  my  heart  in  a  rose-leaf  shallop 

And  sail  it  over  to  you ! 


123 


ESTRANGED. 

PRIDE  keeps  the  eyes  as  clear  as  dawn 
By  forcing  back  the  tears, 
But  lets  the  injured  heart  weep  on, 
No  human  hears ! 


Yet  grief  that  makes  no  vain  out-cry 

As  from  untold  despair, 
Still  breathes  a  murmur  heard  on  high 
Like  wordless  prayer ! 


Thus  with  a  sorrow  half  divine 
I  mourn  you  coldly  changed, 
A  gift,  a  joy  no  longer  mine, 
O  friend  estranged ! 


I  loved  the  homely  gown  you'^wore, 

The  ribbon  in  your  hair; 
To  me  the  flower  your  bosom  bore 
Was  more  than  fair  ! 


124 


Estranged. 


Slow  were  the  strolls  we  had  alone, 

Low  were  the  words  we  said, 
Life's  sweet  romance  about  us  thrown, 
Its  real  fled ! 


For  on  the  locust  avenues 

The  moon  her  witchery  weaves, 
And  dewdrops  sift  with  scent  profuse 
Through  locust  leaves. 


O  sweet  the  whisper !  sweet  the  theme  ! 

And  sweet  the  wish  unsaid ! 
Scarce  sweeter  were  the  blissful  dream 
Of  youths  that  wed ! 


We  worshiped  birds,  we  worshiped  flowers, 

We  worshiped  storm  and  flood ; 
We  worshiped  Night's  enchanted  hours, 
'Twas  in  our  blood  ! 


125 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Along  the  moon-lit  avenues 

I  wander  now  alone, 
But  find  from  sheen  that  thither  woos 
The  charm  has  flown ! 


Alas !  though  pride  conceals  profound 

My  trustful  heart  betrayed, 
Earth  sheds  no  balm  that  heals  the  wound 
Your  treachery  made ! 


And  so  in  silence  I  deplore 

Your  cherished  friendship's  end, 
A  boon,  a  treasure  mine  no  more, 
O  faithless  friend ! 


126 


ODE  TO  A  ROBIN. 

THY  song  with  morning  breaks, 
Sweet  Robin,  and  its  short  refrains 
Soft  on  my  casement  splash  like  sudden  rains 
Of  flowers  that  shatter  into  flakes ; 
All  unaware  my  soul  from  slumber  wakes 
Full  of  thy  cheery  strains. 

Thou  dost  not  skyward  soar, 
Nor  thy  songs  bubble  through  the  trees 
Throbbing  with  mortal  pain ;  but  on  the  breeze 
Come  leaf-arousing,  dancing  o'er, 
What  time  the  dawn  begins  to  broadly  pour 
Its  flood  o'er  land  and  seas ! 

No  keen  wound  subtly  pains 
Thy  heart,  no  woe  that  inly  grieves, 
Into  my  being,  crying,  wanly  weaves ; 

Which,  when  thou  ceasest,  still  complains, 
O  Robin,  pouring  ever-joyous  strains 
Amid  the  dewy  leaves ! 

Oft  in  my  deeper  dreams 

I  hear  thee  dwindled  to  a  tone, 

Like  love's  own  lute  ere  love  has  sorrow  known ; 
Or  flutings  wound  by  twilight  gleams 
In  Fairyland  along  the  golden  streams, 
From  elfin  pipers  blown ! 


127 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Thin  flageolets  and  veins 

Of  music  faint  and  far  away, 

That  lure  me  forth  from  sleep's  oblivious  sway 
Wherein  the  woeful  presence  wanes, 
And  lead  me  where,  a  child  in  rosy  lanes, 
Again  I  laugh  and  stray ! 

Bird  of  melodious  powers ! 

Before  thee  what  green  valley  swells, 

What  fountains  blue  ?  that  from  thy  full  throat  wells 
But  gladness  only  ?     Fadeless  flowers, 
Unclouded  sky  and  scented  summer  bowers 
Where  Joy  forever  dwells  ? 

To  woo  and  win  from  Death, 
Shows  thee  a  wondrous  conjurer; 
Thy  song  that  creeps  into  the  dreamful  ear, 

The  Heart's  red  blossom  shattereth ; 

Once  more  I  feel  the  fresh  and  fragrant  breath 
Of  hopes  about  to  stir  ! 

Each  like  some  dainty  gem, 
Illumes  the  cloud  that  shields  the  whole, 
The  young  hopes  nested  in  my  boyish  soul, 
O  soon  to  be,  blest  brood  of  them, 
Like  winged  flowers  in  ruby  seas  a-swim, 
Bright  summits  for  their  goal ! 


128 


Ode  to  a  Robin. 

These  years  with  all  they  hold 
Of  weary  burthens  that  increase, 
Annihilated,  melt  away  and  cease; 

Once  more  about  me  as  of  old, 

The  bloom-bewildered  orchards  are  unrolled 
In  breezy  joy  and  peace ! 

With  self-same  looks  it  wore, 

Looms  the  old  homestead  green  and  grand! 

Now  happy  voices  reach  me  where  I  stand, 
And  oh !  I  see  once  more,  once  more, 
My  youthful  mother  in  the  open  door, 
The  distaff  in  her  hand ! 


O  House  where  I  was  born ! 
Where  I  was  reared  and  reached  the  goal 
Of  manhood  free  from  ills  that  now  control ! 
Where  I,  amid  the  flowers  and  corn, 
In  boyhood  romped  with  ne'er  a  dream  forlorn 
Preying  upon  my  soul! — 

Your  scenes  before  me  laid 
Are  all  familiar.     Glad  and  bright 
The  wavering  landscape  broadens  in  my  sight ! 

Here  first  I  yielded  undismayed, 

Then  felt  the  young  soul  stir  within  me  swayed 
By  song  and  sorrow's  might! 


129 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Alas!  I  do  not  err! 
I  felt  it  in  a  mournful  thrill 
Among  my  spirit's  leaves,  like  winds  that  fill 

The  murmurous  groves  of  pine  ai:d  fir; 

The  spirit's  leaves  that  Song  hath  set  a-stir, 
Can  never  more  be  still ! 


What  wonder  that  I  said, 
In  touch  with  things  that  made  me  weep, 
"Love,  lift  thy  wings  and  let  me  safely  creep 

Thereunder,  I  am  so  afraid !" 

The  red  dawn  blushing  like  the  sky  had  bled, 
Did  all  earth  oversweep ! 

Thus  breaks  the  magic  spell 
Thy  glad  notes  weave  about  me,  heard 
Among  my  morning  slumbers,  happy  bird ! 
Sing  on !     I,  too,  should  sing  as  well, 
But  ne'er  was  heart  whose  songs  thus  joyfully  swell, 
By  pain  or  passion  stirred ! 


130 


MAY  DAYS. 

NOW  splendors  flash  and  gleam  on  high, 
And  orchards  stir  with  breezy  lightness,. 
And  gorgeous  suns  flood  earth  and  sky 
With  radiant  brightness. 

These  are  the  joyous  days  I  love 

In  open  field  or  woodland  hoary, 
The  beauty  of  the  clouds  above, 
The  rainbow's  glory. 

A  rush  of  song  now  soars  aloft 

That  bears  not  Music's  storied  madness, 
Poured  forth  spontaneous,  clear  and  soft, 
From  hearts  of  gladness. 

Thus,  matins  lavished  on  the  wood, 
Where  rosy  convolutions  bind  me, 
Suggest  the  beautiful  and  good 

When  youth  enshrined  me. 

I  looked  up  morning  vistas  then, 

And  sought  the  goal  that  poets  treasure,. 
While  hope's  glad  whisperings  within 
But  promised  pleasure. 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Yet  breathed  among  the  solemn  trees, 

When  stars  the  darkened  skies  are  thronging, 
Swell  trills  and  strains  that  might  appease 
A  poet's  longing.   . 

Thus  warbled  in  unearthly  vein 

Night's  lonely  ear  aerially  taunting, 
Song  conjures  up  some  latent  pain, 
My  bosom  haunting. 

For  hidden  in  eternal  change, 

To  me  there  seems  impending  danger ; 
Even  life  in  every  phase  is  strange, 
And  death  is  stranger ! 

Ye  birds  ! — some  with  the  rainbow  crests — 

From  you  one  should  some  solace  borrow ! 
There  seems  within  your  tuneful  breasts 
No  thought  of  sorrow ! 

But  here  where  fragrant  breezes  blow, 

'Tis  I  who  from  the  May-days  sever ; 
Sing  on,  sweet  birds,  exempt  from  woe, 
Sing  on  forever ! 


132 


DISILLUSION. 

WITHIN  the  sad  sea's  wave, 
No  sudden  sound  with  merry  tingle- 
Above  the  ocean's  somber  stave, 

Breaks  forth  from  fabled  mermaid's  ingle 
Within  the  sad  sea's  wave; 
Nor  chimes  from  rills  that  lories  crave 

Which  lull  the  shore  where  cascades  jingle,. 
Might  woo  dead  Naiads  from  the  grave ; 

Nor  pools  leaf-screened  along  the  dingle 
Tempt  Sylphides  down  in  them  to  lave 

Ere  their  bright  eddies  meet  and  mingle 
Within  the  sad  sea's  wave. 


133 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Where  sweet  the  roses  dream 

No  more  the  Old-time  fairies  rally, 
Nor  lifted  eyes  seek  morning's  beam, 

Nor  drooping  lids  with  slumber  dally 
Where  sweet  the  roses  dream ; 
Yet  dusk  and  silence  haunt  the  stream, 

Till  weird  along  its  emerald  alley 
It  lies  enclasped  in  charm  supreme ; 

Each  ripple  sparkling  mystically 
Up  through  the  stilly  starlight's  gleam 

Which  silvers  o'er  the  pulseless  valley 
Where  sweet  the  roses  dream. 


On  as  from  tomb  to  tomb, 

O'er  all  the  earth  in  mystery  keeping 
Life's  clashing  walks  have  narrow  room — 

Walks  wherein  Sorrow  passes  weeping 
On  as  from  tomb  to  tomb ! 
Unknown  the  soul's  impending  doom, 

Or  what  dire  thing  befalls  us  sleeping 
Enshrouded  aye  in  voiceless  gloom  ! 

Meanwhile,  a  low  cloud's  shadow  sweeping 
O'er  wastes  of  bursting  bud  and  bloom, 

Comes  dark  Oblivion  o'er  us  creeping 
On  as  from  tomb  to  tomb ! 


ZOAR. 

A  CHURCH  IN  GRAVES  COUNTY,  KY. 

CHARMS  from  oblivion  screen 
Thee  and  thy  beauty,  O  Zoar ! 
And  keep  thee,  as  years  intervene, 
In  my  memory  flourishing  green, 
Blest  and  beloved  evermore ! 

On  an  embankment  of  flowers 

Rolling  in  waves  down  the  streams 
I  followed  in  youth's  happy  hours, 
Through  fragrant,  luxurious  bowers, 
Clad  in  a  raiment  of  dreams — 

Thou,  as  in  forests  elysian 

Flashing  a  luminous  light 
Through  many  a  leafy  incision, 
Didst  rise  on  my  juvenile  vision, 

Silent,  and  solemn,  and  white ! 

I  as  more  used  to  the  wood 

Timidly  shunned  thee  within ; 
The  dear  people  who  misunderstood 
Believed  me,  because  of  my  mood, 
Full  of  irreverence  and  sin. 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Frequent,  O  Zoar,  when  thy  hymn 

Swelling,  arose  like  a  knell, 
Birds  sprang  from  environing  limb 
And  sought  perches  more  shaded  and  dim 

Down  in  the  neighboring  dell. 


Then,  as  ecstatic  with  truth, 

Oft  thy  stentorian  words 
Pierced  coverts  that  sheltered  a  youth 
Abashed — playing  truant — forsooth, 

Like  to  those  innocent  birds ! 


0  as  with  the  feet  of  the  breeze 
Over  thy  tree-studded  lawns 

1  bounded  in  bare-footed  ease, 
The  rare  time  that  deliciously  flees 

Ere  one's  majority  dawns ! 


Played  on  thy  bloom-covered  slopes 

Free  as  the  vagabond  herds 
The  sweet  hour  when  new  beauty  opes, 
My  heart  full  of  bright-budding  hopes 
Blown  into  dreams  and  not  words ! 


136 


Zoar. 


Some  than  white  roses  were  whiter, 

Some  than  fair  faces  of  nuns, 
And  some  than  the  thistle-down  lighter, 
And  some  than  the  rainbow  were  brighter, 

Beautiful  toy  of  the  sun's ! 


Such  was  the  scene  that  enshrined 

When  my  young  days  like  a  flood 
Rushed  forth  pouring  over  my  mind 
Inspirations  with  dreams  intertwined, 
Ever  to  endure  in  my  blood ! 


Yet,  not  thy  splendor  and  gleam 
Even  when  June  on  thee  shines; 

Not  these,  with  the  lawn  and  the  stream, 

O  Zoar !  in  my  lasting  esteem 
Lift  thee  above  other  shrines ! 


Nay,  not  thy  walls  newly  done 

Awing  the  green  solitude ; 
Nor  thy  gables  that  flash  in  the  sun, 
Nor  eaves  with  their  scallops  upon 
Sawed  of  some  odorous  wood ! 


137 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Still  from  thy  resonant  walls, 

Peans  of  fervency  born 
My  heart  through  the  world-din  recalls, 
And  an  air  on  my  consciousness  falls 

Sweet  with  the  odors  of  morn ! 


Yet,  though  imposing  and  grand, 

Matted  with  reeds  that  entwine, 
Not  forests  around  thee  that  stand — 
But  the  clasp  of  a  delicate  hand 
Wrought  thee,  O  Zoar,  most  divine ! 


She  was  a  glorious  maid, 

Meet  for  a  lord  to  adore ; 
In  me  she  believed,  for  me  prayed; 
And  still  are  the  thoughts  undecayed 

Culled  of  her  gospeling  lore. 


Meeting  in  life's  morning  hour, 

I  by  her  beauty  allured 
Passed  days  in  her  hospitable  bower ; 
And  there  my  young  soul  got  its  dower, 

Deep  in  the  greenwood  immured ! 


138 


Zoar. 


Leaves  of  the  Laurel  blown  high, 

Oft  the  true  lover  inspire ; 
And  thus  with  my  first  votive  sigh, 
They  were  tossed  between  me  and  the  sky, 

Flashing  incentives  that  fire ! 


Therefore,  in  mart  or  in  mine 
Filling  with  exquisite  pains, 
I  have  been — deeming  woman  divine — 
Aye  love's  litanist  bowed  at  her  shrine, 
Chanting  melodious  refrains ! 


139 


THE   HERO. 

WITH  eager  eyes,  each  like  some  lustrous  bead, 
With  lifted  face  aglow  with  inborn  light, 
We  stand  a-tiptoe  stretched  to  our  full  height, 
To  view  the  man  who  fills  his  country's  need; 
The  soul  heroic,  by  whose  word  and  deed 
We  are  exalted.     On  him  honors  bright 
Are  heaped  spontaneous.     Mankind  knows  by  sight 
And  loves  him,  God-like,  who  was  born  to  lead ! 


For  though  the  voice  of  Jove  was  heard  on  high 
And  there  were  wrought  ere  Sinai's  summit  flamed, 

Good  deeds  that  shed  a  glory  through  all  time, 
This  earth,  home  erst  where  heroes  clomb  the  sky, 
Still  teems  with  greater  than  for  whom  were  named 
The  starry  spheres  that  make  yon  heavens  sublime ! 


140 


JULIETTE. 

ABOUT  machinery  where  one  feels 
That  worry  kills  at  last, 
Where  one  would  deem  no  witchery  steals, 

My  duty  holds  me  fast. 
It  seems  my  heart  in  time  would  learn 

The  sluggish  shop  to  slur, 
But  on  my  cheek  deep  blushes  burn 
And  glad  thoughts  in  me  stir. 


Embodied  grace,  without  a  care, 

Of  lithe  and  willowy  form, 
'Tis  Juliette,  flitting  here  and  there, 

With  sunny  heart  and  warm. 
Like  sunshine  on  a  cloud  that  gleams 

So  flower-like  down  its  track, 
Some  brightness  in  her  presence  seems 

To  beat  the  shadows  back ! 


141 


Woods  and  Waters. 


O  Herrick,  songful  mouth  of  gold, 

Whose  measures  still  ensnare, 
The  Julia,  whom  you  praised  of  old, 

I  say,  was  not  so  fair ! 
Let  love's  sweet  dream  the  home  enhance 

Where'er  its  fairy  scene, 
But  tell  me  not  that  love's  romance 

Is  all  in  woodlands  green  ! 


For  here  among  these  city  walls, 

As  in  the  olden  time, 
Love's  magic  touch  my  heart  enthralls 

And  starts  its  willing  rhyme ; 
And  fragrant  flames  my  soul  illume, 

And  golden  dreams  enshrine, 
And  toiling  in  this  narrow  room 

With  her,  seems  half  divine ! 


142 


BELLS  OF  ST.  PATRICK'S  CHURCH. 

BELLS  of  St.  Patrick's,  your  refrain 
On  morning  breezes  cast, 
Brings  back  into  my  thoughts  again 

Days  of  the  happy  past; 
Days  ever  dear !  days  ever  fair ! 

The  joyous  days  that  flood 
The  youthful  mind  with  visions  rare, 
And  dreams  that  stir  the  blood ! 


And  I  a  day  among  them  find, 

'Mid  shadows  blown  away, 
Gleams  like  a  golden  light  enshrined — 

It  was  my  wedding  day ! 
With  prayers  I  sought  to  win  her  smile 

That  made  my  tear-drops  start ; 
Not  hers,  unyielding  all  the  while, 

Long  I  besieged  her  heart ! 

Fighting — me  from  herself  she  flung, 

Defiant,  to  be  free, 
And  willful — yet  was  shy  and  young, 

O  what  a  prize  was  she ! 
Bells  of  St.  Patrick's— ring,  I  pray ! 

Set  your  deep  tones  astir ! 
These  tidings  glad  to  all  convey, 

My  love  did  conquer  her ! 

'43 


Woods  and  Waters. 

Though  beaten,  baffled,  held  at  bay, 

I  could  not  fail  nor  falter ; 
Exultant,  on  a  Sabbath  day 

I  led  her  to  the  altar. 
Sweet  scene  whose  rare  effulgence  seems 

Rose-colored,  darkening  slow, 
Transpiring  with  its  radiant  gleams 

Some  twenty  years  ago ! 

Among  the  choristers  in  the  loft, 

It  makes  my  heart  rejoice, 
Now,  like  the  Village  Blacksmith,  oft 

I  hear  my  daughter's  voice  ! 
So  new,  so  fresh,  like  bubbling  brooks, 

With  song's  inspiring  leaven, 
It  seems  to  flood  the  numerous  nooks, 

Like  echoes  blown  from  Heaven ! 


Thus  mingling  with  the  organ's  peal, 

Her  full  melodious  notes 
Deep-swelling,  make  the  worshipers  feel 

Their  hearts  rise  in  their  throats ! 
Bells  of  St.  Patrick's,  ring  aloud ! 

A  leal  ambition  stirs ; 
Of  conscious  gift  so  justly  proud, 

Some  triumph  shall  be  hers ! 


144 


BALLADE  OF  THE  LOVELIEST  GIRL. 

HER  hair  is  brown  and  it  crowns  her,  too, 
And  rare  the  luxuriant  wealth  it  shows  is ; 
Her  cheeks  are  tinged  with  a  delicate  hue, 

As  pink  as  the  blush  from  the  peach  that  flows  is ; 
On  her  fair  young  face  what  comes  and  goes  is 
The  sheen  of  thoughts  that  her  soul  embue ; 

Her  teeth  are  as  pearls  and  Grecian  her  nose  is — 
She's  the  loveliest  girl  that  I  ever  knew  ! 


Just  half-way  wet  with  the  fragrant  dew, 

Down  where  the  most  tropical  flower  that  blows  is; 
Or  up  where  the  heavens  are  moist  and  blue, 

Where  dawn  like  a  roseate  fountain  reposes ; 

Or  spaced  where  the  greenest  of  verdure  that  glows  is, 
There  abides  no  beauty  more  charming  and  true ; 

From  her  eyes  still  fairer  the  glance  she  throws  is — 
She's  the  loveliest  girl  that  I  ever  knew  ! 


'45 


Woods  and  Waters. 


In  a  garden  the  warm  wind  wanders  through, 
But  long  in  its  center  dreams  and  dozes, 

Till  flowers  are  blown  where  the  weeds  are  few ; 
Like  brown  bees  crowd  where  none  of  their  foes  isr 
With  golden  lips  where  the  sweetest  that  grows  is, 

Come  forth  her  young  lovers  intent  to  woo, 

For  a  man  but  knowing  her  one  of  her  beaux  is — 

She's  the  loveliest  girl  that  I  ever  knew  ! 


L'ENVOI. 

O  MAN,  like  a  scented  shower  of  roses, 
The  sweets  of  her  fresh  young  soul  on  you 

She  pours  when  her  rosebud  mouth  uncloses — 
She's  the  loveliest  girl  that  I  ever  knew  ! 


146 


TO  A  PERFECT  POEM. 

LIKE  the  sighs  of  a  wave  starward  blowing, 
Tide-heaved  in  the  far  middle-main, 
There  are  numbers  intangibly  flowing, 

Soul-throbbed  through  my  wearying  brain ; 
While  here  with  the  strong  and  the  knowing 

I  helplessly  stand  in  my  pain, 
As  they  tremble  toward  skies  that  are  glowing — 
Toward  skies  that  are  open  and  glowing, 
Whose  luminous  fires  never  wane. 


Like  a  chime  full  of  pathos  and  pretty, 

That  dies  in  the  air  overhead, 
Like  the  cry  in  the  marts  of  the  city 

From  hearts  that  have  suffered  and  bled, 
Like  the  sound  of  a  spiritual  ditty 

Hummed  over  the  feverish  bed, 
They  are  laden  with  Love  and  her  pity — 
With  Love  and  her  infinite  pity, 

With  Life  and  its  dream  of  the  dead ! 


147 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Never  murmur  was  crooned  over  pillow, 

Never  bird  in  the  tremulous  cane, 
Never  wind  in  the  boughs  of  the  willow, 

Has  breathed  half  so  soft  a  refrain 
As  the  hymn  thus  intoned  by  the  billow, 

The  lyric  I  grasp  at  in  vain, 
Ever  sung  by  my  Soul  in  her  villa — 
By  my  Soul  in  her  Ocean-girt  villa, 

All  art  lying  mute  in  the  strain  ! 


0  Poem,  thus  futilely  wooing 

My  heart  in  its  songs  to  be  heard, 

In  chords  human  helplessness  ruing 

More  subtle  than  metre  may  gird, 

1  hear  thee  still  patiently  suing 

Like  the  moan  for  a  boon  ne'er  conferr'd, 
Which  pleadeth  for  Sorrow's  subduing — 
For  Sorrow's  most  pensive  subduing, 

In  the  song  of  a  desolate  bird  ! 


148 


TO  A  DEAD  SINGER. 


SPONTANEOUS  warbler,  sinless,  white, 
Whose  tuneful  soul  by  grief  unstung, 
Had  been,  like  love  the  gods  requite, 
Forever  gay,  forever  young — 


Born  of  the  sunbeam,  dew  and  spring, 
Too  soon  into  death's  vortex  drawn, 

Still,  still  like  some  enchanted  string, 
Thy  voice  on  earth  sounds  on  and  on ! 


Thus,  Death  who  plumes  the  trustful  wing, 
And  his  Ally  who  victory  claims, 

Doth  plume  in  vain,  doth  lose  his  sting, 
On  all  who  gain  enduring  names ! 


The  miscreant  Fates  that  smite  and  curse, 
This  minstrel's  hungering  heart  forgives, 

To  know  thy  earnest,  gladsome  verse, 

Though  thou  hast  perished,  lives,  still  lives  1' 


149 


Woods  and  Waters. 


This  truth  and  triumph  understood, 

Hard  cheered  thee  while  below  the  sky, 

Assured  thy  songs,  so  true  and  good, 
Dear  one,  could  never  wholly  die ! 


Sweet,  mournful  woman,  rest  in  peace — 
In  hallowed  peace,  I  plead  and  pray ! 

Thy  fame  shall  gather  bright  increase 
And  like  a  new  star  shine  some  day. 


For  thine  are  songs  that  bless  and  save, 
And  prove  in  other  lives  a  leaven  ; 

Shed  lusters  o'er  the  Poet's  grave, 
And  blossom  almost  high  as  heaven. 


BY  THE  RIVER. 


WHEN  youth  was  a  gladsome  giver 
Of  beautiful  dreams  that  flee, 
I  stood  by  a  mournful  river, 

And  my  soul  stood  there  with  me. 
A  fair  young  maid  had  passed  over 

In  days  that  were  half  divine, 
And  I  was  her  chosen  lover, 
And  she  as  a  child  was  mine. 


In  a  dream  whose  beauty  had  won  me, 

I  gazed  o'er  the  river's  brim, 
The  shadow  of  woodlands  upon  me, 

Of  woodlands  dense  and  dim; 
And  over  beyond  and  near  it, 

I  discovered  a  maiden  fair, 
And  I  said  to  my  wistful  spirit, 

"  My  love !     I  know  she  is  there !  " 

Above  me,  the  light  clouds  dabbled 

In  blue  air  by  cool  winds  blown ; 
Below  me,  broad  waters  babbled 

In  a  murmurous  monotone. 
And  I  said  in  a  speech  that  pleases, 

"  O  wave,  go  whisper  her  sweet! 
And  with  lips  as  pure  as  the  breeze's, 

Kiss  her  immaculate  feet !  " 


Woods  and  Waters. 

But  my  words  died  down  in  the  distance, 

The  sad  waters  taking  no  heed, 
And  I  said  with  the  wind's  assistance 

It  may  be  I  shall  succeed ; 
For  it  loves  the  fair  young  lasses, 

And  wooes  and  wins  them  with  ease  \ 
But  the  wind  slyly  hid  in  the  grasses, 

Or  fled  through  the  tremulous  trees !  " 

"  O  cloud!  "  I  exclaimed  imploring, 

"  Unto  her  a  message  bear ! " 
But  the  cloud,  my  request  ignoring, 

Dissolved  into  viewless  air ! 
Thus,  the  wave  was  but  futilely  greeted, 

And  the  shy  wind  ceased  its  refrain ; 
For  naught  was  the  cloud  entreated, 

And  all  my  efforts  were  vain ! 

Yet,  still  with  the  waters  between  us, 

With  the  light  clouds  airily  blown, 
In  sight  of  my  love,  my  Venus, 

I  stand  in  sorrow  alone ! 
The  beautiful  Southern  maiden 

Still  flourishes  fair  as  a  rose ; 
But  my  life  with  loneliness  laden 

No  sweet  affinity  knows ! 


152 


A  SONG  OF  THE  FOREST. 


THE  streets  and  the  walls  thou  abhorrest, 
The  dust  and  turmoil  of  the  pave ; 
Let  us  haste  to  the  free-breathing  forest, 

From  strife  and  the  marts  that  enslave ! 
To  the  waterfall's  ariose  ditty, 

To  the  leaf-sheltered  shade  of  the  glen, 
Let  us  fly  from  the  glare  of  the  city, 
From  haunts  and  the  babble  of  men ! 

For  we  worship  our  great  common  mother, 

We  adore  the  old  gods  of  the  grove, 
And  we  love  in  our  hearts  one  another, 

And  the  forest  hath  altars  for  love. 
As  again  in  the  days  of  our  childhood, 

Let  us  loiter  where  streams  ripple  on ; 
Romance  ever  dwells  in  the  wildwood, 

Though  Pan  and  the  Naiads  are  gone ! 

The  aisles  of  the  forest  are  haunted 

By  dreams  of  a  multitude  flown ; 
Let  us  hasten  to  spaces  undaunted 

Where  silences  ache  for  a  tone. 
Leaf-screened  in  the  lush  dusky  places, 

Let  us  walk  under  boughs  interlaced; 
And  breathe  in  the  freshness 'that  braces, 

And  odors  that  there  go  to  waste ! 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Twin  hopes  in  our  hearts  were  implanted 

By  touch  of  the  same  sacred  hand, 
And  the  region  most  charmed  and  enchanted 

For  us,  is  the  tree-studded  land. 
O  sweet  be  our  theme  and  the  story, 

With  songs  in  our  hearts  that  have  grown; 
And  sweet  in  the  greenness  and  glory 

To  worship  our  Idol  alone ! 


Sweet  poet,  come,  let  us  be  merry, 

For  Earth  has  her  laughter  and  glee ; 
The  blossoms  are  on  the  wild  cherry, 

The  thickets  are  joyous  and  free ; 
And  the  woods,  now  exempt  from  sadness, 

Have  many  a  melodious  tree ; 
Every  copse  is  an  anthem  of  gladness, 

Each  jungle,  a  grand  Jubilee ! 


Yet  Mirth,  for  a  brief  season  only, 

Profuse  and  spontaneous,  sojourns ; 
Let  us  haste  where  the  forest  is  lonely 

And  for  lovers'  company  yearns. 
Where  naught  of  the  city  may  follow, 

The  dream  of  our  hearts  let  us  tell, 
Deep  down  in  a  green  mossy  hollow 

Where  bees  and  the  butterflies  dwell 

154 


A  Song  of  the  Forest. 

Where  aureate  daffodils  twinkle, 

Like  luminous  showering  stars, 
Soft  lulled  by  the  daintiest  tinkle 

Of  musical  shells  on  the  bars 
Which  emit,  under  grass-woven  cover, 

Though  scarce  from  their  slumber  awoke, 
Half-filled  with  the  wind  passing  over, 

Faint  sounds  like  a  fairy-bell's  stroke. 


The  leaves  they  will  gather  and  hide  us, 

The  trees  will  be  sentinels  tall, 
Neither  sorrow  nor  fear  shall  betide  us, 

Neither  evil  nor  harm  shall  befall. 
The  birds  they  will  sing  to  us  sweeter, 

And  joy,  from  the  highland  above, 
Come  bounding  on  feet  that  are  fleeter, 

Beholding  that  we  are  in  love ! 


Sometimes,  to  the  innocent-hearted, 

The  fountains  of  blue  are  unsealed ; 
For  us,  the  high  clouds  will  be  parted, 

And  truths  that  lie  hidden,  revealed ; 
For  the  sky's  mystic  curtains  are  slanted, 

To  let  in  the  prayers  of  the  good, 
And  litanies  of  love  that  are  chanted 

In  temples  and  fanes  of  the  wood ! 


ENCHANTMENT. 

IN  father's  doorway  frequent, 
I  sat,  a  bare-foot  boy, 
At  eve,  the  shadows  sequent, 

And  viewed  the  stars  with  joy. 
A  thousand  bold  cicadas 

Began  a  martial  lay, 
While  other  shrill  invaders 
In  treetops  piped  away. 

The  simple  joy  of  living 

Inspired  their  tiny  bars, 
But  I,  a  child,  was  giving 

My  reverence  to  the  stars. 
Their  music,  harsh  or  tender, 

Fell  from  familiar  trees ; 
The  stars !     With  tremulous  splendor, 

They  gemmed  the  shadowy  seas ! 

Mysterious  and  so  many, 

Sublime,  but  far  away; 
What  beauties  !     Were  there  any 

So  strange  and  bright  as  they  ? 
With  some  resentment  rather 

I  spurned  attractions  nigh, 
But  longed  in  vain  to  gather 

The  priceless  gems  on  high. 

156 


Enchantment. 

Within  the  sky's  dominion 

I  saw  their  quenchless  lights, 
But  had  no  buoyant  pinion 

To  scale  the  cloudless  heights. 
They  may  be  all  unreal, 

But,  like  the  rose's  bloom, 
About  the  fair  ideal 

There  lurks  no  ray  of  gloom. 


Sometimes  in  regions  dimmer, 

I  saw  with  childish  eyes 
The  vivid  lightnings  glimmer 

In  low-down  Southern  skies. 
I  heard  no  sullen  thunders, 

Yet  gazed  on  dazzling  gleams, 
Became  possessed  of  wonders 

And  strange,  fantastic  dreams ! 


As  touched  with  necromancy, 

They  drew  my  thoughts  from  earth, 
And  gave  my  boyhood's  fancy 

A  new  ethereal  birth. 
The  golden  hours  were  flitting, 

Yet  where  the  light  was  dim, 
In  father's  doorway  sitting, 

I  filled  with  love  of  them. 


Woods  and  Waters. 

Though  one  from  youth  inherit 

The  fear  that  gives  alarm, 
They  breathed  into  my  spirit 

A  sweet,  ecstatic  charm. 
The  gift  thus  deeply  implanted 

To  those  of  dream  belongs, 
And  hence  my  soul  enchanted^ 

Still  weaves  its  simple  songs. 


What  though  they  fail  to  win  me 

A  name  that  shines  like  gold, 
The  chords  that  stir  within  me 

Awake  with  joys  untold ; 
For,  like  some  fair  romancer, 

I  heard  the  voice  of  dreams ; 
With  joyful  words  that  answer 

My  heart  since  boyhood  teems. 


158 


LOVE. 

OLOVE !  whose  kindness  long  I  share, 
Thy  grace,  thy  glory, 
To  me  all  fair  things  still  declare 
In  song  or  story ! 


Star  of  my  soul  whose  quenchless  gleam 

Burns  soft  and  clearly, 
My  life's  bright  ray,  my  youth's  sweet  dream, 

Loved  long  and  dearly  ! 

My  soul  and  I,  with  thee  above, 

Our  theme  as  ever, 
We  are  but  dreams  of  life  and  love, 

And  high  endeavor. 

My  morning's  balm  ere  tasks  begin, 

My  hope  to-morrow ; 
My  evening's  calm  for  years  hast  been, 

My  joy,  my  sorrow. 

All  things  that  please,  all  things  that  bless 

In  their  completeness, 
Seem  gifted  of  thy  loveliness, 

And  of  thy  sweetness 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Yet  I  too  often  turn  and  speak 
But  to  displease  thee, 

With  blessed  tears  upon  my  cheek 
Still  chafe  and  tease  thee ; 


But  that  from  thy  bright  eyes  I  wrung 

Before  I  knew  it, 
Was  like  the  boomerang  which  stung 

The  hand  that  threw  it ; 


And  therefore,  since  I  feel  the  pain 

Conjointly  sting  me, 
Know  thou,  O  sweetheart,  that  I  fain 

But  joy  would  bring  thee  ! 

Forgive  my  failures  when  I  come 

Thy  kindness  sharing, 
For  love  is  blind,  and  also  dumb, 

And  sorrow-bearing ! 


1 60 


I 


INSPIRATION. 

DO  not  care 

For  you  you  golden-gloried  blonde 
With  shining  hair, 

Which  seems  to  catch  and  hold  in  bond 
Light  that  doth  lie  the  fleeting  clouds  beyond ! 


You  only  dream 
Of  sun  and  glare  of  gorgeous  things, 

And  half-way  seem 
Such  sheen  unto  your  raiment  clings, 
Some  airy  Sylph  who  lost  her  way  and  wings ! 


I  do  not  prize 
The  dainty  glance  I  scarce  can  see 

That  steals  from  eyes, 
Which,  faintly  struggling  to  be  free, 
Dense  yellow  lashes  almost  vail  from  me ! 


White,  slender  hands, 
Long  waxen  fingers  veined  with  blue ; 

My  soul  withstands 
These  and  a  throat  of  snowy  hue, 
Though  mellowest  peals  of  laughter  ripple  through ! 


161 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Yet,  thousands  greet 
You,  made  of  upper  sky  and  air, 

Divinely  sweet; 

But  all  the  gold-light  in  your  hair 
Can  ne'er  this  wary  heart  of  mine  ensnare  ! 


Let  Poets  rave 
O'er  splendors  which  your  face  illume, 

Each  be  a  slave 

Of  eyes  that  cast  no  ray  of  gloom, 
Daft  with  the  languid  airs  you  do  assume  ! 


Let  them  admire 
The  heights  of  yon  Empyrean  skies 

Where  flaming  higher, 
Great  grandeurs,  dazzling,  upward  rise, 
Wherein  no  fluttering  gleam  of  darkness  lies ! 


But  Earth  I  love, 
I  love  the  shapes  her  shadow  weaves, 

Her  clouds  above; 

The  smell  of  rain  on  growing  sheaves, 
And  green  buds  bursting  into  flowers  and  leaves ! 


162 


Inspiration. 


And  fondlier  yet 
I  love  with  all  her  fiery  dash, 

The  brave  brunette ; 
And  for  her  smiles  I  court  the  clash 
Of  armed  combat  daring  what  is  rash ! 


For  she  uplifts  me 
As  night  uplifts  the  wilted  bud, 

Divinely  gifts  me, 

And  doth  my  soul  with  sweet  pains  flood, 
And  fire  with  quenchless  flame  my  sluggish  blood  t 


So,  in  my  dreams 
Of  earth's  exalted  and  sublime, 

To  me  she  seems 
Not  woman  in  her  glory's  prime, 
But  some  young  goddess  of  the  olden  time ! 


Dark  Juno-browed 
As  reared  within  the  Thunder's  home 

Above  the  cloud, 
Who,  over  fields  of  ethery  foam, 
From  out  the  mist  that  fills  the  hollow  dome. 


163 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Comes  like  a  splash 
Of  storm-cloud  love's  hot  thirst  to  slake, 

With  eyes  that  flash 
The  subtle  lightning  that  doth  make 
Earth,  sea  and  sky,  strange  wildering  glamours  take ! 


164 


LOVE  SUB-ROSA. 

I  LOVE — and  my  throbbing  heart  agrees — 
I  love  you,  Sub-rosa,  though  a  folly, 
For  yours  is  a  face  to  engage  and  please ; 
It  relieves  my  heart  of  its  melancholy, 
O'erflows  my  mind  with  a  feeling  jolly, 
And  wooes  my  rhymes  like  the  rose  and  holly 
The  golden  lips  of  the  honey-bees ! 


For  yours — like  a  face  in  a  dream  one  spies, 
Or  fairest  of  those  that  charm  and  allure  us — 

Is  one  of  the  few  to  worship  and  prize ; 
A  face  that  doth  with  delight  assure  us, 
Whose  smiles  and  wiles  attract  and  secure  us 

1-    The  love  which  will  in  your  heart  immure  us— 

Immure  us  body  and  soul  and  eyes ! 


165 


Woods  and  Waters. 


About  your  lips  they  twinkle  and  gleam, 

Faint  o'er  your  cheeks  into  sheen  of  blushes, 

And  in  your  eye-brows  they  hide  and  dream ; 
And  if,  like  songs  in  the  throats  of  thrushes, 
They  bubble  up  from  the  fount  that  flushes 
And  feeds  the  stream  whence  the  feeling  rushes, 

Oh !  drown  me  within  that  enchanted  stream ! 


Ah,  then  my  heart  in  a  trance  would  lie 
Forever  done  with  sorrow  and  sighing, 

All  earth  below  me,  above  the  sky; 

No  more  your  mouth  with  a  rose-bud  vying, 
Or  your  cherry-red  lips  when  together  lying, 
Could  tempt  me  again  into  wailing  and  crying : 

*'  O  Love !  let  me  kiss  you  once  and  die ! " 


166 


OVER  THE  WALLS  OF  TRAFFIC. 

LIKE  demons  who  mumble  and  mutter, 
Are  men  that  I  meet  in  the  marts ; 
Harsh,  harsh  are  the  words  that  they  utter, 
And  cruel  and  cold  are  their  hearts. 


They  claim  to  be  brother  and  brother, 
A  merciful  God  in  their  creeds ; 

Yet  flay  and  make  meat  of  each  other, 
Then  laugh  and  exult  in  their  deeds. 

Break,  break  from  their  intricate  tangles 
Of  interests  that  balefully  twine ! 

From  mercenary  lords  and  their  wrangles, 
O  Psyche,  sweet  sister  of  mine ! 

Afar  from  where  Poverty  found  us, 
Beyond  the  grim  walls  that  arise, 

Which  Traffic  has  builded  around  us, 
Is  the  Poet's  beloved  Paradise ! 

Each  morn,  on  its  verges  unshrouded 
By  glooms  from  red  forges  that  stray, 

Aurora,  in  splendor  unclouded, 
Stands  sweeping  the  shadows  away. 

167 


Woods  and  Waters. 


About  her  a  music  that  blesses, 

Spontaneous,  blows  with  the  breeze ; 

And  the  tumult  of  trade  that  distresses 
Is  sifted  through  blossoming  trees. 

Oh !  Sandalphon  the  saint,  must  repeat  his 
Beatified  deeds  where  she  stands, 

For  the  good  Poet's  prayers  and  entreaties 
Are  changed  into  flowers  in  her  hands ; 

And  she  casts  them  for  mortals  who  love  her 
Where  each  ever-afterward  shines, 

And  where  worshipers  among  them  discover 
Mysterious  symbols  and  signs. 

A  scintillant  trail  of  them  follows 

Faint  zephyrs  that  lazily  pass, 
Which  gleams  down  the  green  mossy  hollows, 

Like  butterflies  poised  on  the  grass. 

Sister,  look  at  their  luminous  legions 
In  the  light  of  immaculate  skies ; 

Let  us  hasten  from  dissolute  regions 
To  the  Poet's  beloved  Paradise ! 


1 68 


DAPHNE. 

(On  reading  Miss  Elvira  Sydnor  Miller's  fairy  story, 
The  Tiger's  Daughter.) 

I  NOW  have  been  beyond  and  seen 
Past  skies  like  azure  veils  unfurled, 
Which  from  the  daily  rude  and  real  screen 
Thy  fairy  world. 


And  feel  like  one  for  love  and  good, 
Whom  Fancy,  taking  by  the  hand, 
Lead  fondly  through  some  vast  enchanted  wood, 
Or  lotus-land. 


O'er  many  an  earthly  league  on  league, 

Yet  new  and  strange,  with  eager  tread, 
At  will  I  wandered  charmed,  without  fatigue 
Or  sense  of  dread. 


169 


Woods  and  Waters. 


For  there  were  verdurous  fields  and  plains, 
With  sun  and  dew  that  made  them  sweet, 
And  leafy  forests  gay  with  elfin  strains 
For  fairy  feet. 

Ah !  Daphne !  peering  through  the  trees, 

I  strove  to  sight  thee  just  ahead ! 
Thy  frou-frou  garments  fluttering  in  the  breeze, 
But  thou  hadst  fled! 


Yet  there,  as  with  vermilion  splashed, 

Thy  winged  dreams  through  sun  and  shower, 
Glanced  like  the  long-tailed  birds  whose  plumage  flashed 
In  Eden's  bower! 


Indeed,  I  was  entranced  complete ! 

My  soul  withdrew  and  stood  apart, 
Forgetting  that  within  my  bosom  beat 
A  mortal  heart ! 


170 


Daphne. 


Returned  and  found  thee  sweet  as  dew, 
Thy  lips  twin  rosebuds  ripe  and  red, 
A  maiden  fit  for  some  young  lord  to  woo, 
Unkissed!  unwed! 


0  friend  !  whose  fair  face  overflows 
And  tempts  me  with  a  crimson  blush, 

1  love  thee — love  thee  like  a  fragrant  rose 

I  fain  would  crush ! 


Thy  rare  dreams  would  I  wildly  tear 

And  shed  their  leaves  the  rainbow  lent, 
And  leave  them  shining  in  the  morning  air 
A  gleam,  or  scent! 

Yet  wisdom  wills  the  spell  unbroken 

Whose  charm  thy  tinted  pages  hold, 
Enriched  with  new-born  lusters  that  betoken 
Fresh  veins  of  gold ! 


171 


MARY  . 

IN   THE   FACTORY. 

BORN  in  her  soul's  unfathomed  deep, 
Fair  hopes  into  her  young  heart  creep, 
And  golden  gleams  before  her  sweep ; 
While  thought  that  rises,  smile  that  glides, 
From  fountains  where  pure  joy  abides, 
Doth  redden  still  the  crimson  tides 
Whose  floods,  within  blue-shaded  creeks, 
Like  sunrise  over  snow-clad  peaks, 
Burst  into  rose-blooms  on  her  cheeks ! 


By  Fate  compelled  to  labor  here, 
Though  poor  like  me,  her  heart  sincere, 
Dream-crowded,  holds  not  one  of  fear ; 
Amid  this  sonorous  roar  of  wheels 
She  comes,  each  morn,  with  merry  peals 
Of  laughter  which  she  half  conceals ; 
Yet,  like  some  bird's  spontaneous  note, 
Whose  sudden  quavers  o'er  me  float, 
They  burst  from  her  melodious  throat ! 


172 


In  Her  Girlhood. 


For  colors  warm 

Enshrine  her  form, 
Like  the  glow  of  skies  after  night  and  storm; 

Or  the  light  that  flows 

From  a  tropic  rose, 
Which  the  wind  of  the  springtime  open  blows ! 

Her  glance,  her  smile, 

Each  maiden  wile, 
Hath  a  charm  that  doth  every  heart  beguile ; 

Her  laugh,  her  word, 

Wherever  heard, 
Are  the  trill  and  chirp  of  the  singing  bird. 

Still,  still  with  ease 

And  grace  that  please, 
She  pours  a  flood  from  the  ivory  keys ; 

So  soft,  so  pure, 

So  clear,  demure, 
Each  stroke  would  the  daintiest  ear  allure. 


Yea,  o'er  and  o'er, 

She  wins  encore 
With  the  strangest  airs  ever  heard  before, 

Her  art  as  such, 

Thrills  overmuch 
With  something  more  than  a  mortal's  touch ! 


177 


Woods  and  Waters. 


In  song  that  flies 

When  her  accents  rise, 
You  seem  to  hear  as  from  paradise, 

A  sound  so  sweet, 

Each  rhythmic  beat 
To  an  exquisite  flower  turns  complete  ! 

And  the  eye  that  seeks 

Up  nebulous  creeks 
Which  reach  life's  blue  and  enchanted  peaks, 

Finds  no  one  stood 

More  noble  and  good 
On  the  verge  of  a  glorious  womanhood ! 

Loves  that  inspire 

And  lift  her  higher, 
Are  the  loves  that  touch  royal  hearts  with  fire  ; 

And  she,  I  own, 

On  Beauty's  throne, 
As  a  queen  of  girlhood  stands  alone. 

Yea,  there  she  stands 

Full  heart  and  hands — 
Before  her,  earth  and  its  teeming  lands ; 

Behind  her,  mist 

By  white  moons  kissed, 
And  the  trailing  splendors  of  amethyst ! 


178 


THE  CITY  OF  SONG. 

THOU  wast  one  of  the  Muse's  fair  daughters. 
Who  joyed  in  her  heavenly  sway, 
With  thy  keel  in  most  luminous  waters 

That  lave  magic  lands  far  away  ! 
She  gave  thee  a  gift  but  to  be  with  thee, 

A  light  dazzling  eyes  that  adored, 
To  take  to  the  world  or  to  sea  with  thee, 
Like  the  flame  that  enveloped  the  sword ! 

Thy  name  was  a  rare  incantation, 

Thy  presence  was  nothing  but  joy ; 
In  thy  friendship  I  found  inspiration 

Long  indulgence  has  failed  to  destroy. 
But  thy  grace  unbestowed  for  division, 

And  thy  bearing  imbibed  as  from  birth 
Into  being  and  substance  and  vision, 

Were  enough  to  entice  one  from  earth  ! 

Fair  dreams  o'er  thy  face  shed  their  glory, 

Thy  soul  was  illumed  with  their  sheen ; 
As  true  voyager  in  song  or  in  story, 

Ne'er  fonder  enthusiast  was  seen. 
Thy  sail  when  the  dawn  rosy-fingered 

Plucked  stars  from  the  chrysophrase  pave. 
Far,  far  from  the  shore  where  I  lingered, 

Gleamed  white  o'er  the  azurine  wave. 


179 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Yet,  alas !  thou  didst  turn  as  deceiving 

From  splendors  of  Poesy's  Cathay, 
As  illured  by  the  lights  thou  wast  leaving 

Which  illume  a  Provence  in  decay ! 
Here  since  thou  hast  sung  with  the  thrushes, 

Thy  tenantless  keel  I  deplore, 
Like  Pike's  old  canoe  in  the  rushes, 

Mold-covered,  made  fast  to  the  shore. 


For  thou  art — in  ways  unbecoming 

The  beautiful  gifts  of  thy  mind — 
Steadfast  in  Society's  slumming, 

To  children's  amusement  resigned. 
I  own  it  is  all  very  pretty, 

A  diversion  to  unbend,  I  agree ; 
But  oh !  unto  Heaven  shrieks  the  pity, 

If  apportioned  by  fate  unto  thee ! 


Break  forth  from  assignments  unending, 
From  labors  unworthy  and  wrong; 

0  fair  truant,  from  sorrows  impending, 
Let  us  sail  to  the  City  of  Song  ! 

1  see  it  across  crystalline  billows 
That  wash  an  Arcadian  strand, 

O'er  a  fringe  and  enlacement  of  willows- 
Beyond,  in  the  heart  of  the  land  ! 

180 


The  City  of  Song. 


I  see  it  through  avenues  gleaming, 

In  a  valley  of  greenness  and  rest, 
A  bright  City  with  ornaments  teeming, 

For  the  Muse's  true  votaries  blest! 
Over  palace  and  dome  everlasting, 

Over  shrines  with  their  treasures  untold. 
Their  high  towers  and  minarets  casting 

Strange  glamours  of  jasper  and  gold  ! 


Out  of  walls — massive  walls  that  have  risen,. 

And  darkened  the  glory  of  morn — 
Which  stand  like  a  menace,  imprison 

And  hold  us  dismayed  and  forlorn, 
Let  us  sail  to  the  magical  City 

Where  love  is  a  joy  evermore, 
And  a  gift  never  Angels  may  pity, 

Though  deathless  in  souls  that  adore  I 


181 


MY  LADY'S  SISTER. 

YOU  must  be  in  love  with  your  sister, 
And  I  am  in  love  with  her  too, 
For  her  looks  are  so  frank  they  enlist  her 
The  love  unto  innocence  due. 


The  grace  like  a  gift  that  enfolds  her 
One's  fear  and  foreboding  disarms, 

And  a  man  any  time  who  beholds  her 
Is  pleased  to  remember  her  charms. 


On  the  tip  of  her  long  lily  finger 
Or  the  red  richer  bloom  of  her  lips, 

O  a  kiss  would  as  lovingly  linger, 
As  a  bee  that  but  daintily  sips ! 


The  blush  from  its  fount  that  emerges 
Doth  over  her  countenance  run, 

Like  a  cloud  o'er  the  dawn's  rosy  verges 
Kissed  by  the  invisible  sun. 


182 


My  Ladys  Sister. 


But  the  gold  in  her  hair  that  entrances 
Is  more  than  the  sun  ever  gave, 

And  a  blessing  like  prayer  from  her  glances 
Will  comfort  you  down  to  the  grave. 


Good  deeds  and  their  blessings  enlist  her, 
While  her  loveliness  many  extol ; 

Ah !  such  is  your  beautiful  sister 
As  she  trips  over  Life's  rosy  shoal ! 


Long,  long  in  my  memory's  mansion, 
Let  her  loiter  like  one  from  above, 

Until  through  the  years'  bright  expansion, 
She  becomes  as  my  own  early  love, 


Who  yet  with  my  youth's  happy  story 
Mid  dreams  in  my  soul  is  up-hung, 

A  maiden  enshrined  in  a  glory 

Which  keeps  her  immortally  young  ! 


183 


A  SAIL— TRIOLETS. 

A  SAIL  comes  to  you, 
Through  a  cloud's  rosy  scallop ; 
Look  up  towards  the  blue, 
A  sail  comes  to  you  ; 
My  heart,  'tis  your  due, 

In  a  large  yellow  shallop ; 
A  sail  comes  to  you 

Through  a  cloud's  rosy  scallop. 


It  gleams  on  the  ken, 
Like  an  argosy  golden ; 

Illumined  within, 

It  gleams  on  the  ken, 

With  words  that  will  win 
And  hopes  that  embolden  ; 

It  gleams  on  the  ken, 
Like  an  argosy  golden. 


184 


A  Sail — Triolets. 


It  swims  in  the  breeze, 
O  exquisite  maiden ! 
High  over  the  trees, 
It  swims  in  the  breeze, 
With  treasures  that  please 

And  fantasies  laden ; 

It  swims  in  the  breeze, 

O  exquisite  maiden : 


My  Heart,  it  is  yours 

With  all  its  endeavor; 
With  faith  that  assures, 
My  Heart,  it  is  yours 
And  with  love  that  endures 

Forever  and  ever; 
My  Heart,  it  is  yours 
With  all  its  endeavor. 


185 


THE  REED  WHISTLE. 

ERE  life  to  me  and  the  earth  were  olden, 
On  a  Sabbath  day  in  the  shine  and  sheen 
Of  a  raiment  of  days  like  a  jewel  golden, 

When  my  heart  was  young  and  the  woodlands  green ; 
With  one  of  my  neighbor's  comely  daughters, 

Down  Massac  creek,  an  emerald  run, 
With  her  I  followed  the  cool,  clear  waters 
That  purled  and  flashed  in  the  morning  sun. 


O  the  June-day  skies  they  were  soft  and  sunny ! 

And  bees  multitudinous  came  and  went, 
While  flowery  censers,  spilling  their  honey, 

With  them  o'er-laden  swayed  and  bent. 
The  breezes  brought  a  melodious  greeting 

From  choristers  setting  the  leaves  a-whirl ; 
One  with  the  spring's  heart  my  heart  was  beating, 

But  I  could  not  talk  to  the  shy  young  girl ! 


186 


The  Reed  Whistle. 


Some  tall  reeds  stood  among  thorn  and  thistle 

Whose  slender  stems  in  the  blithe  air  stirred, 
I  partook  of  one  and  made  me  a  whistle 

And  blew  a  note  like  the  mocking  bird ; 
Again  I  blew,  and  was  glad  to  discover 

The  music's  charm  on  her  fair  face  lay ; 
Then  first  I  seemed  a  successful  lover, 

And  sweet  were  the  lips  I  kissed  that  day ! 


But  alas !  from  woods  and  their  fairy-like  bowers, 

From  paths  I  trod  when  a  barefoot  boy, 
The  golden  romance  and  the  bright  wild  flowers 

Are  gone  with  illusions  the  years  destroy ! 
And  before  me  now  for  the  scenes  that  stir 

I  look  no  more  with  expectant  eyes, 
But  joy  was  mine  when  I  roamed  with  her, 

And  Massac-bottoms  my  Paradise ! 


187 


BEAUTY  IDEAL. 

O'ER  all  we  love  dilates 
A  charm  words  cannot  reach ; 
And  Poesy  that  creates 
When  gifted  souls  beseech, 
The  most  resplendent  speech, 
Here  baffled,  scarce  approximates ! 


Some  glory  upward  lies 

Perhaps,  that  makes  us  fond, 

To  which  we  fain  would  rise ; 
Some  mystery  all  unconned 
We  cannot  look  beyond, 

Arched  o'er  us  like  the  glowing  skies ! 


An  object  thus  enshrined 

Has  that  which  makes  it  fair ; 

Vainly  with  wakeful  mind, 
We  seek  it  everywhere ; 
Alas  !  in  our  despair, 

We  cry  aloud  that  love  is  blind  ! 

1 88 


Beauty  Ideal. 

Inspiring  glad  surprise, 

Its  subtleness  is  such 
It  mocks  discernful  eyes ; 

Something  we  cannot  touch, 

Yet  feel  it  over-much — 
Some  power  unseen  that  glorifies  ! 

Yea,  power  that  answereth 
And  joys  the  true  and  fond, 

That  sweetens  bitter  breath 
And  holds  our  hearts  in  bond 
As  close  as  stem  and  frond, 

And  brightens  o'er  the  brow  of  death! 


Embodied,  it  is  she 
The  Poet  wooes  at  eve ; 

His  queen  she  comes  to  be 

And  thenceforth,  though  he  grieve, 
From  spells  her  witcheries  weave, 

He  never  more  can  wander  free  ! 


Of  her  with  patient  ruth, 
Forever  fair  and  young — 

Of  her  and  living  truth, 

With  harp  melodious  strung — 
His  golden  mouth  has  sung 

Since  love  and  poesy's  joyous  birth 

189 


Woods  and  Waters. 

To  him,  unseen  of  men, 
Like  spring  to  groves  of  fir 

From  where  rainbows  have  been, 
She  comes  a  minister ; 
His  spirit  but  for  her, 

Indeed,  were  dark  and  lone  within  I 


Yea,  but  for  her  the  scent 
Of  flowers  would  aggravate ; 

No  hearts  were  marriage-bent ; 
The  soul  and  song  that  mate 
And  life  were  things  that  wait 

Inevitable  extinguishment ! 

Joy  would  not  thrill  nor  please, 
Nor  faith  find  lodging-place ; 

Hope  lighter  than  the  breeze, 
And  love  but  passion  base, 
In  her  alluring  face 

But  for  the  charm  the  poet  sees ! 

Rejoicing,  free  from  care, 
Essaying  songs  that  win, 

Forgetting  earth's  despair 
As  far  from  haunts  of  men, 
He  lies  en-wound  within 

Her  shining  hyacinthine  hair ! 

190 


Beauty  Ideal. 

'Tis  she  who  makes  me  dare 

To  do  my  better  part ; 
For  her,  though  ill  I  fare, 

I  love  my  chosen  art ; 

She  breathes  into  my  heart 
And  gilds  the  fleshless  death's  head  there ! 

Her  whispers  that  beguile, 

My  listening  spirit  hears, 
Though  clad  in  woe  the  while 

Life  more  divine  appears, 

And  Sorrow  dries  her  tears 
And  greets  me  with  a  gladdening  smile ! 


191 


DEWDROPS. 

WHAT  are  dewdrops  ?    The  starry  flowers 
Twinkling  over  yard  and  lawn ; 
Spikes  and  splinters  in  windy  showers 
Riven  from  the  florid  dawn. 

What  are  dewdrops  ?     First  words  of  love 

Spoken  lowly  like  a  prayer ; 
Some  find  lodgment  in  hearts  above, 

Some  are  lost  in  sighs  and  air. 

What  are  dewdrops  ?    The  baby's  eyes 

Under  lidlets  waxen  white ; 
Fathered  by  the  mysterious  skies, 

Shy  they  seek  the  sweet  new  light. 

What  are  dewdrops  ?    These  songs  of  mine, 

Love's  first  leaflets  blown  apart ; 
Dewdrops  lost  in  the  vast  sunshine, 

Shaken  from  my  trembling  heart. 


192 


"THE  EVENING  LAND." 

(IN  ANSWER  TO  E.  S.   M.) 

OFAIR  is  the  form  that  escorts  you 
From  a  clime  overshadowed  with  woe, 
To  a  region  whose  beauty  transports  you, 

Whose  dwellers  but  happiness  know ; 
Where  music  and  magical  voices 

A  marvelous  rapture  declare, 
And  a  permanent  grandeur  rejoices 
Song's  votaries  there ! 

For  that  is  the  glorious  good-land 

Where  troop  the  young  fairies,  I  think, 
Which  traverse  the  green  aisles  of  the  woodland 

And  haunt  the  blue  rivulet's  brink, 
Whose  meandering  serpentine  angles 

A  soil  ever  emerald  girds, 
While  fountains  abound  in  their  tangles 

For  vagabond  herds. 


Woods  and  Waters. 

There  trees  with  Arcadian  leaders 

Profusely  luxurious  appear, 
While  their  foliage  like  Lebanon  cedars, 

Fades  not  through  the  beautiful  year. 
And  within  their  umbrageous  dominions, 

Trills  woo  from  the  heart  its  despair, 
While  a  brilliancy  flashes  from  pinions 

That  soar  through  the  air ! 


A  land  that  requires  no  defender, 

Which  teems  with  allurements  that  please, 
By  suns  of  most  opulent  splendor 

Illumed  over  azurine  seas. 
Song's  ecstasies  there  re-awaken 

And  echo  from  groves  that  enshrine, 
By  love  and  romance  unforsaken 

Which  keep  them  divine ! 


Where  love  in  your  slumber  gallants  you, 

This  golden  embodiment  floats, 
And  from  there  in  a  scene  that  enchants  you, 

You  pour  your  bewildering  notes, 
But  remember,  so  fanciful  is  it, 

While  rainbows  above  you  expand, 
It  is  only  in  dreams  that  you  visit 

This  exquisite  land ! 


194 


TO  SOUTHERN  SOLDIERS. 

TO  sail  the  high  seas  over, 
To  take  the  Cuban's  part, 
Go  from  the  fields  of  clover, 
Go  from  the  clanging  mart. 
Scarce  time  for  love's  caresses, 

Scarce  time  for  pledge  or  vow, 
To  isles  that  war  distresses, 
O  soldier,  hasten  now  ! 

A  noble  mother  bore  you, 

A  son  of  valiant  sire, 
Whose  lives  shed  lusters  o'er  you 

That  stir  the  bosom's  fire. 
Then  seek  some  triumph's  glory, 

Like  Hobson,  win  a  name, 
The  land  of  song  and  story 

Will  brighten  with  your  fame ! 

As  an  illusion  airy 

Whose  loving  look  beguiles, 
Turn  from  the  Southern  fairy, 

Forego  her  pleasant  smiles ; 
For  she  delays  and  harms  you 

Who  clings  like  blossomed  vines,. 
As  on  a  bough  that  charms  you 

A  green  luxuriance  twines. 

195 


Woods  and  Waters. 

But  her  sweet  thoughts  will  follow, 

The  morn  you  march  away 
Like  some  new-clad  Apollo, 

So  handsome,  brave  and  gay. 
Nor  will  they  from  you  vanish, 

For  her  and  glory's  sake, 
In  war  against  the  Spanish, 

While  you  a  name  may  make. 


In  far-off  western  regions, 

In  isles  of  tropic  bloom, 
Attached  to  Freedom's  legions 

Where  Dewey's  cannon  boom, 
Whatever  skies  above  you, 

Whatever  seas  divide, 
Some  Southern  girl  will  love  you 

And  wait  to  be  your  bride ! 


196 


FLORENCE. 

WHAT  makes  you  sorrow,  Florence  ? 
What  makes  you  grieve  and  pine  ? 
My  tears  would  flow  in  torrents 
If  caused  by  me  or  mine ! 

The  world  is  all  before  you, 

And  youth  that  scorns  despair 
Now  sheds  its  splendors  o'er  you 

Which  makes  you  very  fair. 

Besides,  among  the  Neros 

Whom  here  your  heart  disdains, 

The  blood  of  Southern  heroes 
Is  bounding  through  your  veins  1 

And  here,  nor  time  removes  it, 

Mid  Traffic's  busy  whirl, 
Your  brother  nobly  proves  it, 

Who  saved  a  drowning  girl. 


197 


Woods  and  Waters. 


You  have  admiring  lovers 

As  womanhood  begins, 
For  every  youth  discovers 

A  charm  in  you  that  wins. 

Then  wherefore  sorrow,  Florence  ? 

Or  wherefore  thus  deceive  ? 
Go,  treat  with  deep  abhorrence 

The  spells  that  make  you  grieve ! 

But  truth,  that  touches  pity, 
I'd  have  you  ere  we  part 

To  gather  from  my  ditty, 
And  bury  in  your  heart ; 

There  keep  it  many  a  morrow, 
Though  you  may  deem  it  chaff; 

When  you  are  sad,  I  sorrow, 
When  you  are  glad,  I  laugh. 


DANGERS. 

I  LOVE  the  words  and  phrases 
And  bathe  them  in  my  tears, 
And  weave  these  poem-praises 
Which  while  your  look  endears, 
I  breathe  into  your  ears. 

Though  your  approval  charms  me, 
I  feel,  O  lady  dear, 

A  prescience  that  alarms  me 
And  haunts  me  with  a  fear, 
Like  Sorrow  standing  near ! 

Between  your  parted  lashes 
In  orbs  of  steel-like  blue, 

I  see  responsive  flashes 
Such  potencies  imbue, 
They  thrill  and  shock  me  too  ! 

"They  are  but  roguish  glances," 
Ah  yes  !  I  know  !  I  know  ! 

Like  keen  stiletto  lances 
That  strike  unseen  a  blow, 
They  perpetrate  their  woe ! 


199 


Woods  and  Waters. 


As  swift,  as  loving  tender, 
As  Cupid's  glittering  dart, 

Like  winged  shafts  of  splendor 
That  leave  a  fatal  smart, 
They  pierce  my  helpless  heart  I 

Harm  on  the  patriot  Fenian 
By  grim  assassin's  dirk, 

Or  heaped  on  frail  Armenian 
By  big  remorseless  Turk, 
The  mischief  that  they  work  ! 

Yet  lady,  still  look  through  me 
Till  all  the  rose-buds  burst, 

And  though  your  eyes  undo  me, 
With  heart  and  soul  a-thirst 
I  crave  their  very  worst ! 

For  ties  that  long  have  bound  me 
True  friendship  answereth, 

And  with  your  arms  around  me 
If  I  should  yield  my  breath, 
It  were  delicious  death ! 


THE  WILLOW. 

IN  somber  robe  of  leaf  and  bough, 
Like  stolid  monk  upon  his  knees, 
Forever  earthward  droopest  thou 
O  Willow,  Niobe  of  trees, 
And  mournest  even  in  faintest  breeze  !" 

Yet,  sharest  thou  in  loveliness 

With  other  trees  on  mundane  shores, 

The  joys  that  make  earth's  sorrows  less, 
And  all  good  things  from  Nature's  stores,.. 
Which  Springtime  o'er  the  forest  pours ! 

When  woods  begin  their  blossomings, 

Some  bird  that  helps  to  make  them  blestr. 

Amid  thy  boughs  with  folded  wings, 
As  deftly  weaves  its  cherished  nest, 
And  carols  with  as  sweet  a  zest ! 

The  moon  for  thee  her  witchery  weaves, 
The  sun  doth  thee  as  gladly  greet ; 

Bees  clinging  fondly  kiss  thy  leaves, 
For  dew  they  hold  is  also  sweet, 
And  bright  flowers  cluster  at  thy  feet !. 


201 


Woods  and  Waters. 


Yet  dolorous  still,  with  ceaseless  tears, 
Consoleless  through  the  merry  springs, 

Thou  mournest,  rinding  naught  that  cheers 
In  all  earth's  gayest,  gladdest  things, 
Like  some  lone  heart  that  sorrow  wrings  ! 

Even  when  the  seasons  in  their  sweep 
Have  borne  thee  past  thy  leafing  day, 

Like  trunks  that  haunt  the  Hovenweep, 
Thine  standeth  proof  against  decay, 
Until  in  worm-dust  blown  away  ! 

Yet,  mourn  on  ...  speechless  in  thy  woe, 
Thou  alien,  mateless  in  our  wood ! 

Mourn  on  !  Thy  sorrows  none  shall  know, 
But  all  shall  feel  the  infinitude 
Whereof  thou  seem'st  from  birth  imbued ! 

It  may  be,  as  the  years  increase, 

The  oblivious  shadow  Death  shall  cast 

Above  our  altitudes  of  peace 

Yet,  mourn  on  ...  unto  breeze  and  blast, 
But  Death  himself  shall  die  at  last ! 


202 


NORA. 

SHE  dreams  of  new  romances 
Where'er  she  goes, 
And  Joy  before  her  dances 
With  cheeks  of  rose. 

Beside  the  gowns  arrayed  in 

That  flash  like  wings, 
A  freshness  fragrance-laden 

Unto  her  clings. 

Her  eyes  ere  love  has  sought  her 

And  fawn-like  looks, 
Are  like  pellucid  water 

To  famished  brooks. 

So,  here  where  toil  distresses 

One  thing  redeems, 
A  thing  that  always  blesses 

Her  presence  seems. 


203 


MY  BELOVED. 

FOUR  Stars  from  four  quarters  ascended, 
One  eve  when  the  grass  was  dew-wet; 
And  Night  with  them  happily  blended, 
When  they  in  her  temple  had  met : — 

A  typical  eve  of  thy  birth,  love, 

And  the  Stars  were  precursors  of  thine, 

Who  bore  from  all  parts  of  the  earth,  love, 
The  beauty  that  makes  thee  divine. 

The  Star  from  the  land  evergreen,  dear, 
And  that  from  bright  Orient  skies, 

With  splendors  they  bore,  may  be  seen,  dear, 
In  the  liquidous  depths  of  thine  eyes. 


204 


My  Beloved. 


The  Star  in  the  west  that  arose,  sweet, 
The  bloom  of  thy  cheek  still  declares ; 

And  the  glory  from  regions  of  snows,  sweet, 
Thy  bosom  inviolably  wears. 

Thus  thou,  with  a  mien  elevated, 
That  eve  in  the  halls  of  the  air, 

Of  Night  and  the  stars  wast  created, 
Whose  shadows  still  darken  thy  hair. 

What  soul,  O  Beloved,  could  be  mute,  then, 
Aroused  from  its  slumber  by  thee  ? 

What  wonder  if  lord  of  the  lute,  then, 
Thy  loyalist  worshiper  be  ? 


205 


A  MUSICAL  DUEL. 

IN  a  land  ever  sought  by  the  singer 
Whose  perishing  hope  it  renews, 
Where  the  Nymphs  and  bright  Oreads  linger 

And  shyest  young  Muse — 
There  was  waged  an  unusual  duel 

Between,  till  one's  eloquence  fail, 
A  musician  impulsive  and  cruel 
And  sweet  nightingale. 

One  eve  ere  a  shadow  encumbers, 
Came  a  clash  in  a  vocalized  glen  ; 

One  a  trill  from  most  magical  numbers, 
One  a  moan  from  a  rare  violin. 

Their  echoes  in  trees  seemed  to  thicken 
And  to  tell  of  the  test  yet  to  come — 

Every  creature  with  silence  was  stricken, 
The  forest  was  dumb ! 

Then  the  bird,  first  assailant,  uncloses 

Its  beak  and  a  melody  swells 
From  its  throat  like  to  showering  roses, 

Or  honey  that  strings  from  its  cells  ! 
Overwrought  as  by  music's  completeness, 

Its  heart  seemed  to  burst  in  the  fray, 
While  the  youth  with  a  marvelous  sweetness 
Still  played,  winning  the  day  ! 


206 


THE  LAST  ROSE. 

I'M  glad  I  spy  thee,  lovely  rose, 
Through  brambles  prying, 
With  fallen  leaves  and  early  snows 
Around  thee  lying. 

Thy  royal  sisters,  lonely  queen, 

Long  since  departed, 
Left  me  a  mourner  unserene 

And  broken-hearted. 


But  all  wherewith  the  skies  endow 

Thy  kindred  fairest ! 
Most  pure  and  perfect,  clothes  thee  now 

With  beauty  rarest. 

And  though  the  wind  that  bore  the  cold 

Hath  somewhat  stifled, 
No  wanton  thing  with  lips  of  gold 

Thy  bloom  hath  rifled. 


207 


Woods  and  Waters. 


So  I  shall  pluck  thee,  for  I  would 
For  love's  sake  use  thee ; 

Ah,  surely  never  maiden  could 
Of  hate  refuse  thee ! 


A  thing  so  fair  in  life's  to-day, 

Ere  life's  to-morrow, 
Should  give  some  love-lorn  heart  for  aye 

Surcease  of  sorrow. 

Go,  queen  of  flowers  to  queen  of  mine, 

And  sweetly  woo  her 
Glad  memory  back  to  days  divine, 

Then  whisper  to  her ! 


"Still  fresh  like  me,  with  clouds  o'erdrawn, 

'Mid  snows  descended, 
His  love  for  thee  doth  blossom  on 

Alive  and  splendid ! " 


208 


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